Life on the Rise
by 1 Jagged Outlaw Queen
Summary: The epic continues… Miss Laura O'Hara Rabb, the unsinkable pixie, and her dynamic duo aunt and uncle are back for a limited time! (My goal is to keep this one under 10 chapters. Let's see if I can do it.) Join them as they rise to new challenges with old friends and three new pint-sized family members. This is volume # 4.
1. Prologue

**Life on the Rise**

 **Prologue**

 **Disclaimer** : I still do not own the characters within this story; except for Laura. She is mine; and mine alone. No profit will be gained from the telling of this story, except for perhaps a few precious hours of enjoyment. All JAG characters are the property of Donald P. Bellasario, Belisarius Productions, Paramount Network Television, CBS.

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Saturday, February 14, 2009

Rabb Residence

Right now, everybody is laughing. Their eyes all have that shimmering look that comes when their laughter is mixed with, or only recently followed by, tears - like the way the sky looks when the sun comes out before the storm has passed; the clouds still black and heavy with the rain that has yet to fall but the sun is bright behind them and shines anyway. Miss. Ellie would probably like that.

Everybody's laughing because of some funny story Keeter is telling. It's a good story too. Keeter always tells good stories, but Laura doesn't feel like laughing.

She can't decide how she feels, but right now she knows she doesn't want to laugh. Taking hold of her walker and slowly rising to her feet, she makes her way through the crowded living room, sliding between friends and family; all of them dressed to the nines, and all of them wearing black.

Quietly, she almost closes her bedroom door but just before it latches, a large black nose is there in the door jamb to stop her. Leaving the door ajar, she crosses the room, climbs up onto her bed and flops onto her back, staring up at the ceiling as her best four-legged pal, a 3 ½-year-old black Labrador retriever, named Candy, leaps nimbly up onto the mattress beside her and studies her face with a mix of concern and curiosity before chuffing softly and laying down to place her furry black head gently against her young mistress's belly.

Because it is every bit as soothing to her as it is to her furry friend, Laura strokes her dog's head, occasionally tugging gently at her large velvety-soft black ears.

Several quiet minutes pass before a soft knock is heard and the door opens slightly more than just the narrow space needed to grant Laura's dog entry.

Elizabeth Hawkes slips into the room and perches lightly on the edge of the bed. Even in black, with her hair pulled back in a somber fashion and her pale sorrowful face completely devoid of makeup, Laura thinks she looks strong and pretty; just in a lonely sort of way.

"I thought I saw you two come in here. How ya holding up, kiddo?"

Laura raises up, rests on her elbows, and shrugs. "Okay, I guess. I don't really know how I feel."

Skates' eyes go wide with mild surprise. "Really? Of all the people I know, Laura, I can always count on you to know exactly how you feel; and you are not shy about telling people either."

Laura shrugs again. "I'm only eight, you know. I've never been to a funeral before either." Reaching down, she brushes away a piece of lint from the black knee-length dress she wears with its lime green sash and delicate embroidery at the hemlines. "This is my first one. I guess I feel sort of weird. I only left the room because – I know Miss. Ellie said she didn't want us to be sad, and I'm not… not exactly, but I don't feel like laughing either." Laura wrinkles her nose. "Do you think that's okay, Beth?"

She nods. "I think it's more than okay."

"I really liked your aunt. She was a cool old lady."

"She adored you."

Laura nods. "She was old and tired, and she really missed your uncle."

"Yes, she did."

"She lived a long time, and she got to see some really neat stuff."

"Yep. She had some adventures, didn't she?"

"I guess it's okay that she died. She was tired of being tired. Do you think she's still tired?"

The navy pilot shakes her head. "No, no I don't, Laura. I think she's full of vim and vigor again. I think - if Heaven has a backyard - then, she's sitting on a back-porch swing talking Uncle Johnny's ears off right about now. Telling him all the things he's missed with her in the last 26 years."

Laura's eyes widen. "That's a long time."

"He died when I wasn't much older than you."

"How come she never got married again?"

Skates smiles. "I asked her about that same question shortly before I went off to Annapolis. I was worried about her being lonely in my absence. Know what she said to me?"

Laura shakes her head; listening intently.

She said, "Don't be silly, honey. I am married. Your uncle and I are just on different schedules.' Two days before she died, she made a final donation to one of Uncle Johnny's favorite charities. She still signed the check, Mrs. John Dandridge."

"Then, I'm not going to be sad. I'm going to be happy for her. She gets to be with her Johnny again on Valentine's Day. That's a good thing."

"Goodness, it is Valentine's Day, isn't it? I don't know why no one has mentioned it before now."

"Probably because they didn't wanna make you feel bad about it."

"But, I don't. That's… Well, that's sort of beautiful, isn't it?"

Laura shrugs. "I betcha Miss Ellie probably thinks so."

Skates laughs softly. "Yes. Yes, Laura, she would think so. Thank you, sweet girl. That helps me feel better… A little less lonely without her."

"Hey, that's it." Laura sits up straight and pulls the collar of her sweater back up over her slender shoulder where it belongs. "I don't feel sad. I just feel lonely. I'm gonna miss her, Skates."

"So, am I, honey. So am I."

Laura points to the thin box her friend holds loosely on her lap. It's gift-wrapped in black satin paper, tied up with a broad silver ribbon and a bright neon pink decorative rose in place of a bow. "What you got in there?"

Skates shrugs. "Don't know. It's for you."

Laura squints. "Do people usually give presents at funerals?"

Skates chuckles as she hands over the gift. "No, but then, Aunt Ellie wasn't anything like most people."

Soft excitement suddenly shines in Laura's eyes. "It's from her?"

Skates nods again. "She told me to give it to you today."

Laura shakes the box gently as she shoos her dog's curious nose out of the way. "It's kind of heavy. Can I open it now?"

"Well, of course, you can." The brunette navy pilot's smile lights up her face despite the discreet evidence of recent tears. "She wanted you to have it."

Elizabeth watches Laura gently slip her thumb under the tape and begin to remove the wrapping paper with exaggerated care and declares with gusto. "Didn't anybody ever teach you how to open a present. girl? You're supposed to rip the paper to shreds!"

Laura's eyes go wide as she hugs the half-unwrapped box to her chest and shakes her head adamantly as if what has just been suggested to her is an act of sacrilege.

The gift giver's niece shakes her head in amusement and shrugs, "Okay, do it your way."

When all the paper is carefully removed, folded and set aside, Laura gingerly lifts the lid and squeals with pure unadulterated delight "Old books!"

As Laura's aunt and uncle come hurrying to her bedroom door and peer in over the threshold curiously in response to her excitement, she smiles radiantly and holds up three well-used tomes. Puzzled, they turn to Skates for an explanation.

She helplessly shakes her head. "I have no idea what my aunt was thinking." She plucks the book that is clearly the oldest and the most dog-eared from Laura's grasp and studies it for a moment before she holds it up, putting it on display once again. "I can understand her wanting to leave Laura copy of Huck Finn. That makes complete sense, but it wasn't like her to give used gifts. If she had only told me, I would've gone out and purchased newer copies of each of these."

Laura shakes her head emphatically, yet again. "I don't want new books, Beth! These are better. These were hers. The last time I was in her house, I was looking at her books. She had so many! That were books in every room! Even the bathroom! Sometimes the bookshelves were so full the books looked like they might fall out! It took me a long time to look at all of them. She said that her books were like old friends. I took these off the shelves, so I could open them. She told me to take them home that day. I said, 'No, Miss Ellie. I can't take your friends."

Mac crosses the room. Scratching the Labrador behind the left ear, she joins the girls on the bed and carefully picks up the pale blue linen envelope nestled in the bottom of the box. Holding it out to Laura, she smiles. "Looks like she left a note for you."

Laura smiles as she gently turns the pages of one of the old books. "Read it for me."

Mac carefully opens the envelope, unfolds the letter, and scans it quickly before she hugs her niece close and begins…

 _Hello, Laura-girl,_

 _I've decided to leave you some of my old friends because I know you'll take most excellent care of them. Read The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn first, then you'll be ready for the more grownup stuff_.

Mac pauses to gently caress the covers of the other two books briefly. She finds a volume of poetry by Maya Angelou, and a biography titled; Franklin Delano Roosevelt: The Lion and the Fox.

She returns her eyes to the elderly lady's elegant penmanship.

 _I've marked some important passages in the other two books for you as well, but you can discover those later, when you're ready._

 _It's funny how life works, Laura. I'm at the jumping off place and you've still got the training wheels on. It's going to be a grand adventure for you, kid and I know it's going to take you far. It was nothing less than an honor to share a little of mine with you. Since I'm short on time, let me say to you that if you can dream it, you can do it. Always remember that Laura, and if anyone is ever foolish enough to try to tell you differently - well, you just, stick your tongue out at them and walk away sweet girl. Never listen to the cold words of people who are not smart enough to believe in you._

 _No matter where life takes you, or what challenges you face, always remember to rise._

 _Until we meet again…_

 _Your friend,_

 _Eleanor Curtis Dandridge_

Still leaning casually against the door frame, Laura's uncle queries, "Are you really interested in a biography about FDR, sweetheart?"

Laura shrugs and tells the truth. "I don't know yet, Uncle Harm. I picked the book up off the shelf in her house because I saw his picture on the back cover. I told Miss Ellie, "I think I've seen him before. Mrs. Kefauver has little pictures of all the American presidents up on the wall above the chalkboard in her classroom. Miss Ellie told me he was the 32nd president and that he stayed in the White House longer than any of the others. I asked her if he did anything good while he was president. She said that I should read the book and decide for myself."

Elizabeth Hawkes laughs merrily. "Aunt Ellie would say that. She would say exactly that. She always said too many teachers tell kids what to think, instead of teaching them how to think."

Smiling serenely, Laura tells them, "The book of poems was on the table beside her bed. She read me some of it. It was pretty good." She gently takes the hardbound Twain novel back from Keeter's wife. Carefully, the eight-year-old girl flips the old pages, passed the table of contents, to find, and read aloud, the obscure warning printed there.

· "Notice: Persons attempting to find a motive in this narrative will be prosecuted; persons attempting to find a moral in it will be banished; persons attempting to find a plot in it will be shot.

· By order of the author,  
Per G.G., Chief of Ordnance.

Looking up from what will be her newest treasure, Laura's eyes widen comically as she giggles with delight. "Oh, this is gonna be a fun book!"


	2. No Peddling in Baseball

**No Peddling in Baseball**

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 **Author's Note** : Steamboat, with regard to your question about AIGT, Not weird! Alas, the editing process never ends. I'm combining some of the smaller chapters to make longer chapters that flow better. No major changes to the story, just some minor editing, and regrouping. I work on it a little here and there so as not to get bogged down. Originally, there were 152 chapters. Currently, there are less than 120. However, all of the material is still there. I stopped today with the revised version of chapter 28. If you open chapter 29, you will see that it has not yet been edited and that the original title was chapter 60 something. I am not, as you say, moving the epilogue. It occurs naturally each time I combine chapters elsewhere in the story.

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Wednesday, June 24, 2009

Rabb Residence

San Diego, California

0642 HRS

With an infant feeding spoon in one hand, Sarah Mackenzie-Rabb peers over the top of her coffee cup and chews on her lower lip as she swallows her own laughter.

Her daughter, seven-month-old Shannon sits in her high chair distracted from her morning meal a strained spinach and pineapples and looks at her brother Noah, who is 4 1/2 weeks older and seated in the chair next to hers, as if she suspects he belongs in a special zoo for cognitively impaired beasts.

Behind the cacophony of laughter and raucous noise pollution he's creating, courtesy of his plastic spoon banging happily against his plastic plate, a faint taping sound is heard at the door to the Rabb's back porch. Without waiting for an answer, Elizabeth Hawkes pokes her head in the door and calls out above the noise, "It's just me and Ellie."

"Come on in." Mac says without bothering to leave the stool positioned strategically between the two high chairs. Setting down her coffee cup on the kitchen bar, the marine reaches out and plucks seven-month-old Ellie from her mother's arms as her neighbor; clad in shorts, flip-flops, and a hooded sweatshirt makes her way into the kitchen where she will help herself to the coffee pot and the aromatic dark roast within.

Mac smiles at the sandy-haired girl in her arms. "Hello, Miss Ellie. What's up?"

The baby burbles happily and blows bubbles in her own saliva.

Adding a teaspoon of sugar to her cup, Skates groans aloud. "You mean besides her? She has been for the last 12 hours."

Walking over to stand beside Mac so she can get a good look at the two youngest members of the Rabb household, Skates declares dryly as she points at Shannon, I don't know what possessed me to see if our girls were ready to be separated at night while Keeter is away. I can pretty much keep Ellie occupied during the day, but at night, when he's not there, she becomes one very unhappy little girl. Separating the two of them at the same time was a bad idea. We haven't slept a wink…" Skates runs her fingers affectionately through her daughter's motley tuft of hair. "Have we, Firefly?"

Mac chuckles when the baby offers her mother a damp and toothless smile. "Well, she's all smiles now?"

"She would be."

"You could have brought her over during the night or come and gotten Shannon. Either option would have worked. You know where the key is."

"Oh sure. You wake up in the morning and your daughter isn't in her crib…"

"Beth, she can barely crawl. I wake up and she's not in her crib, she's either in the shower with Harm or she's at your house. Those are my options. Now, of course, if she's in neither of those places… Somebody's going to die. But I would check those two places before I went on the bloodiest rampage this world has ever seen."

Skates tilts her head to one side and nods. "What's her problem anyway? Why is she looking at Noah like she suspects he belongs in a straitjacket?"

"She always looks at him like that when he bangs things together. You know that. He thinks he's making music. She thinks he's certifiable."

"She looks like Harm when she does that."

"I know. He looks me the exact same way when he's not so secretly questioning my sanity."

Keeter doesn't bother with strange looks. He just comes right out and asks me, "Woman, have you lost your mind?"

"How's the new house? Feeling familiar yet?"

"it's coming along. I couldn't possibly have gotten this far this fast without you and Harm helping out as much as you have. I swear I don't know what Keeter was thinking. I mean, I leave the Navy and he goes and signs up to do test flights on new aircraft! There once was a time, not so very long ago, I would've given anything to be in the backseat of one of those babies. Wanna know what my most prevalent thought now is?"

Mac takes a not so wild, educated guess and hums quietly, "He's got a seven-month-old baby at home and he's going to voluntarily climb into the cockpit of one of those newfangled computerized flying monstrosities and blow himself to bits."

"However did you guess?" Skates queries sarcastically.

Mac nods in understanding. "Still, trust me, if he ever voluntarily takes himself out of the air, that will scare you more."

Wide-eyed, and suddenly stricken, the retired pilot visibly flinches. "God, I forgot about that. Harm did do that, didn't he? But he's back up there now. He's okay, right?"

"As okay as he ever will be. He's through blaming himself, doesn't mean the experience hasn't left him with a few gnarly scars."

"You're right. The thought of Jack Keeter not flying… that would be infinitely worse"

"So, what are you gonna do?" Mac smiles for his benefit as she gently pushes her son's hands out of her way and spoons baby food into his mouth which, he immediately spits out. "Oops, sorry, wrong kid." She acknowledges her mistake.

"Suck it up, and roll with the punches… Beyond that, on a more practical note, I'm going to take out a life insurance policy, make her the beneficiary, and open a savings account for her. Start dropping a little into it here and there so that if he does head off into the wild blue yonder never to return, she'll have something to fall back on… even if it is just money… He won't eat her baby food? I thought Noah ate anything that wouldn't eat him first."

"Ellie already has money." Mac shrugs. "I don't think he likes pineapple. He will eat other baby food that does have the spinach in it. Shannon loves this one, but he always spits it out."

Skates nods. "Aunt Ellie left enough to get her through college, but life does not stop the day we graduate."

Coming into the kitchen, catching only the tail end of the conversation, Laura frowns. "Gosh, I sure hope not. I like school, but I don't wanna spend my whole life there!"

Skates chuckles. "Good morning, Laura."

"Hey, Beth." On her way to the cabinet that holds her faithful sidekick's favorite brand of Kibble, Laura pauses long enough to greet the trio of little people in the room. "Mornin' babies."

Shannon clumsily offers Laura a messy fistful of baby food.

Laura manages to smile even as she winces, "No thank you. You eat it. I'll get my own."

Mac offers. "Your uncle made you waffles to go with your eggs and sausage. Your plate is in the microwave. There's cantaloupe in the fridge, and your lunch is on the counter."

Laura nods. "Okay, but I have to feed Candy first. If I don't she will steal my food before I can get it to the table."

As she walks away, Noah reaches out for his cousin, complaining cantankerously as he momentarily forgets about his music and opens and closes his little fists in midair.

Laura rolls her eyes. "No-ahhhh, chill, little man. I'm not going anywhere." She backtracks and stands awkwardly on tiptoe, kissing the crown of the boy's head because it's the only spot she can find that appears to be free of mashed banana and soggy Cheerios. "Dude, you and me… we talked about this… the food… it goes in your mouth."

In response, Noah simply offers her his spoon which, she happily accepts and gently bangs against the tray of his high chair. Noah squeals with laughter and, a moment later, when Harm steps into the kitchen tucking his uniform shirt in at the waist, his son throws a handful of banana mash at him.

Swallowing his momentary flash of irritation, Harm grabs the dish towel hanging on the front of the oven door and wipes the goo off himself before placing his fists on his hips and eyeing the boy-child with mock severity. "I suppose you think that's funny; do you?"

Noah clasps his chubby little hands together clumsily with glee; mashing more banana between his fingers.

Raising an eyebrow, Harm looks to his wife.

"Don't look at me. How many times do I have to explain it? Never get dressed to go anywhere until this little guy has been fed, hosed off, and all food has been put safely away. It's not rocket science."

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Friday, June 26, 2009

Scripps Memorial Hospital

Professional Office Building\Physical Therapy Department

1857 HRS

Physical therapist, Charlie Waters, an uncommonly tall man of Jamaican dissent smiles brightly; his teeth a startling white contrast for his café au lait skin tone. He winks at his patient; his eyes the color of the Caribbean. "Okay, brown eyes. Sit up, you can put your shoes back on. How's that new walker treating you? You've had it for a couple of weeks now. Surely that's enough time to know if you be needin' any adjustments."

Laura works her way into extra-long socks that are shockingly vibrant shades of purple and yellow. "It's fine. You don't have to adjust it. Uncle Harm already did last week. He made it just a teensy bit taller, and he tightened up the brake too. Plus, a tiny little screw fell out of my brace yesterday. She picks up her leg brace from the end of the therapy mat and turns it over so that the posterior side of the brace is facing up. See, this one right here." She points. "He put it back in."

The therapist picks up the brace and examines it closely. "Looks good as new to me. It still works OK? It's not giving you any trouble?"

Laura shrugs and shakes her head. "Uncle Harm fixed it, and my walker too."

"Uncle Harm sounds quite handy. I thought he was a Navy lawyer." Charlie teases.

"He is, silly."

"So, when did he have time to learn to fix leg braces and walkers."

Laura shrugs again. "I don't know. I guess maybe he made some time when he got me."

Charlie chuckles. "Well, that was awfully nice of him."

"I know, right!"

Charlie slides off his perch on the edge of the raised therapy mat and settles on his knees in front of her. "Laura, I was joking." He picks up one of her neon colored high top sneakers from the floor and helps her on with it. "He helps take care of you. He should know how to do those things because you need somebody who knows how to do those things. Parents learn how to do new things every day when their kids need something. It's normal."

"Not for me, Charlie. At least not before Aunt Mac and Uncle Harm. Mom doesn't know how to make walkers taller. She doesn't have a whole bunch of tools. Neither does Mimi. You can say it's normal if you want to. To me, it's pretty freaking cool. I mean, the screw just fell out on the floor and he picked it up and put it right back in. It's not even loose anymore, and he didn't get mad and say I broke it. He didn't yell because braces are expensive. He didn't even say go to your room."

"I see. So, what you're saying is, you're living the good life."

Laura bobs her chin enthusiastically. "Good… and noisy."

"What makes you say it's noisy?"

"You try living in a little house on the beach with two lawyers, two babies who don't like to sleep at night, and a big black dog who likes to growl at seashells, and see if your life is quiet."

The therapist eyes Laura's service dog speculatively. "I've never heard her make a sound."

Suddenly aware that she is the topic of conversation, Candy picks up her head, yawns from her resting place on the floor 10 feet away from the therapy mat and looks to Laura; waiting for a recognizable command. When one does not come immediately, she lays her head back down on her paws but keeps a watchful eye on the girl.

Knowing that their therapy session is nearly ended without any need to look at the clock on the wall, Mac leaves one of the few chairs meant for guests and steps closer to the mat. "She rarely ever doesn't make a sound. Except when on the beach, and that's a fairly new development. A few months ago, she picked up a seashell in her mouth, intent on giving it to Laura. A small crab crawled out from inside the shell and pinched her on the nose. Since then, she growls at seashells."

Charlie comically rubs the end of his own nose. "In that case, I don't blame her. I might growl too."

Laura giggles.

"You're lookin' good, sweet thing, and you're gettin' stronger every day. You don't need me to fix a thing. Get out of here. Go home. Play with your noisy cousins. Away with you! I'm kicking you out. Don't come back until next week."

"I'm getting stronger?"

"As if you don't know it."

"Strong enough to get a bicycle?" Laura tries hopefully.

"I don't know if I like the sound of that. All that repetitive motion isn't going to be good for your joints."

Laura scowls. "Can I at least play baseball this summer… There's no peddling in baseball."

"Really? I thought there was no crying in baseball."

"Charlie! Will you please be serious?"

"Okay, I'll be serious, but just for a second. Can you seriously swing a baseball bat without falling over?"

Laura shrugs. "I don't know." She adds in a singsong voice, "But, there's only one way to find out."

Charlie mulls this over.

Laura watches and waits with big eyes.

Charlie makes a funny sound with his tongue inside his cheek. Aunt Mac lends a smidgen of support. "She can swing a golf club without falling over… Almost every time."

Charlie stares at his young patient for a long moment.

Laura doesn't move. She doesn't speak. She doesn't breathe.

Charlie points his finger. "This weekend, you practice swinging a baseball bat on the beach where the sand is soft. You don't even have to hit a ball. Just swing the bat. If you come back to therapy on Monday covered head to toe in ugly bruises… No baseball."

Laura grins ear to ear. "Yes!"


	3. Laura Begins Training

**Laura Begin's Training**

* * *

 **Author's Note** : Hello Y'all. Some of you have been begging me to return to this story for months. Wish granted – finally! You must forgive me for the lengthy hiatus. Miss Candy passed away this past January. She was 13 years old here in the real world - three years older than the life expectancy for her breed - and I know that she'd still be here if her old body would have allowed it. Following her passing, I tried to return to this story and found that every time I thought of the much younger version of her that still lives within this story, I would immediately dissolve into a blubbering mess. Well, enough is enough!

She was a damn fine friend and her life deserves to be celebrated, more than the loss of her is mourned. Although, if she were still here, she would probably think I've committed heresy. I've taken in a cat! One who needs a good home and some extra special care. Shall we rise?

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Sunday, August 23, 2009

Rabb Residence

San Diego California

1427 HRS

A red-headed boy named Liam Harrell who has too many freckles to count tosses a rubber racquetball in the direction of his best friend. Laura O'Hara-Rabb swings her plastic baseball bat and misses but grins ear to ear because she didn't fall over and find her head beneath the waves on the attempt. The hard rubber ball glides past her but doesn't get far before her eager black Labrador retriever and service dog extraordinaire snatches it from the waves and returns it to the pitcher when called.

Elizabeth Hawkes observes this event courtesy of the large picture in the cozy living room of the house on the beach where two of her dearest friends, who also happen to be neighbors, and their three children reside. "Mac, she's getting stronger and developing some new muscle tone in those slender little arms of hers."

Trish Burnett nods in agreement as she places a salad bowl in the center of the dining table. "It's not just her arms. When she comes out of the water, take a good look at her legs. The good one has some impressive new definition. Even the leg that she claims is just for show, has a much smaller but still noticeable amount of new muscle."

Skates turns and glances through the expansive glass pane once more before joining them in the kitchen. "She certainly isn't short on determination either. Whoever heard of playing baseball in the ocean?" Leave it to Laura to be the one to do it, and for her, it makes perfect sense.

Mac laughs as she delivers glasses of iced tea to the table. "Last month her physical therapist, Charlie, told her she couldn't play baseball this summer unless she could swing a bat without falling over and getting bruised up. She started practicing on the sand, for the first few days she fell over every time she swung the bat. Turns out swinging a baseball bat is a bit different than swinging a golf club… Different muscles. When she got tired of falling face-first into the sand, she marched into the house and announced that she was putting on her bathing suit because at least when she falls over in the water, it doesn't hurt! She stubbornly plowed away at that for almost 10 days before she managed to stay upright. Then, she moved back to the beach and started all over again without the support of the water. Hopes of playing baseball this summer have been carried away by the tide, but she's determined to be ready next spring. She wants to play Little League and she's not taking no for an answer. Warm baths and massages have become an almost daily occurrence to help alleviate the strain she's putting on her muscles, but she practices nearly every day. On the days when she needs a break, she plays video games with Liam… And I might add, she's not really a fan of video games, but she needs to improve her hand-eye coordination. She's yet to hit the ball even once after a solid month of practice. Harm told her the video games would help with that. So, like it or not, she has taken to it with a vengeance. Liam is a good sport, but he isn't enjoying it. He told me yesterday that when they first started playing against each other, it was 'sorta boring because she sucked eggs and it was too easy to beat her.' He whooped her all the time, but they have now reached the point where she's walloping him on a fairly regular basis, and I think he's missing the easy wins."

Harm walks into the room carrying a freshly changed infant on each hip and steps into the conversation easily. "She's Mac made over. And, by that I mean she has a mercilessly competitive streak. One that I think she's just beginning to discover. Yesterday afternoon, I heard the Super Mario Brothers chime signifying success, and the little girl who doesn't even like video games, crowed, 'In your face!' Poor Liam came in here looking like he'd just been sucker-punched. And, I'll tell you something else too. She may still occasionally fall over when she swings that bat, but aside from that, she's developed quite the knack for it. If bat and ball ever do connect, I fully expect to be replacing some windowpanes in this house."

Jack Keeter grins rakishly before tearing off a piece of warm buttered roll and handing it to his own sandy-haired infant who waits impatiently in her nearby highchair. "The game ain't worth playin' if the girl's not swinging for the fence."

Mac grimaces. "I should've known you were the one who told her that."

Keeter shrugs. "Course, I did."

"Jack, she's just getting her bearings, and she puts entirely too much pressure on herself. I'd be impressed just to have her meet the ball. She doesn't have to hit it out of the park."

He shrugs again. "You told me to treat her the same way I would treat any other kid. You told me not to put her in a bubble."

Mac groans. "You're going to throw that back at me now?"

Keeter nods. "Damn straight."

Mac laughs. "Some friend you are! Go tell kids dinner will be on the table in five."

Frank volunteers, "I'll wrangle and dry off the dog."

As the two men head out the back door, Keeter calls over his shoulder, "You know you love me!"


	4. Laura Gets an Upgrade

**Laura Gets an Upgrade**

* * *

Wednesday, August 26, 2009

Keeter Residence

San Diego California

16:24

In response to her cousin's loud complaint, Laura declares, "Noah! Hold on little guy; I'm working on it fast as I can."

Elizabeth Hawkes shakes her head in response to the tantrum that the 10-month-old boy is currently throwing because things are not happening fast enough to suit him. He doesn't like to be confined in his own baby walker. Instead, largely out of adoration for his older cousin, he has taken to using Laura's walker as a substitute for his own. The only trouble is, her walker is too tall for him to properly grip the handles without standing on tiptoe and stretching – a compromising position for the burgeoning toddler as he's not yet entirely stable on his own feet. Additionally, he's too young to grasp the concept of how to properly make use of the hand brake and, when pushed, the walker moves too fast for his unsteady legs to keep pace.

Reaching out from her perch on the footstool in front of Keeter's favorite chair, Laura locks the hand brake so that the walker won't budge before she's ready for it to do so. Next, she holds out her arms in an inviting fashion, beckoning to his sister. "Come see me, Shannon. Come here, baby."

At first, Shannon has no intention of getting any nearer to Noah, who is red-faced and wailing, but when Laura picks up a large toy car with pullback action and makes car engine noises with her mouth, the baby girl, who is a month younger than her brother, decides to oblige her and then wastes no time crawling over to a spot where she is within easy reach. When she grabs hold of Laura's pant legs and pulls herself into a standing position, Laura scoops her up and plops her down on the walker's built-in seat.

Laura repeats the entire process a second time, calling out to her cousin Ellie who is the same age as Shannon but crawls much more slowly because although she's healthy, developmentally, she lags a couple of months behind Shannon, whom she shared a womb with, courtesy of one awe-inspiring and highly unusual pregnancy.

When the tiny girl is finally close enough, Laura scoops her up without waiting for her to stand and carefully places her beside Shannon on the seat. Then, she takes the small seatbelt that Uncle Harm attached to the walker's seat just for this purpose and fastens it across both their laps; holding the girls in place so they can't accidentally topple off the seat.

As soon as they are close enough to touch the two little girls smile and clasp hands.

Finally, Laura grabs Noah by the shoulder straps of his overalls and gently hauls the boy to his feet. As soon as he has both hands on the frame of the walker, he stops fussing and starts making car noises of his own.

"Okay, mister, drive carefully. You're hauling precious cargo." Laura releases the hand brake, and then, after the walker's initial moment of resistance to his pushing; she watches him slowly make his way across the living room, pushing his sister and his cousin along for the ride as he goes. The combined body weight of the two little girls on the seat is more than enough to slow the walker to a speed that the baby boy can keep up with, and he laughs like a loon as he careens around the room; gently bumping into furniture unfortunate enough to find itself in his path.

Folding baby laundry from her seat on the sofa, Skates smiles. "Thank you for sharing your walker with him, Laura. You don't have to do that."

Laura shrugs. "I know. It's okay. I don't mind. He doesn't like his own anymore, because he can't get out of it by himself. When he wants out, boy does he howl; but he still needs something to hold onto without it. It won't be much longer, I don't think. Pretty soon, He'll be walking faster than me."

Skates chuckles. "Laura, pretty soon, he's going to be walking faster than all of us."

"I know. Grandma Trish says the same thing. Good thing Charlie said I'm getting stronger. I think Noah is going to be hard to keep up with; and now he's always touching stuff he's not supposed to touch. Uncle Harm says that'll get worst when he doesn't have to hold on to anything to walk."

"It will..." Skates nods. "but that's just normal baby behavior. Now that he can stand, even if only in-place, He's seeing the world from a whole new perspective. There are so many new things for him to be curious about - things he couldn't reach before, probably even things he couldn't see before."

"I bet, before we know it, Ellie and Shannon will be chasing him.

Letting herself in through the front door, Mac joins in on the conversation with a chuckle. "Sometimes it feels like they were born five minutes ago. Don't blink. Before we know it, Laura, they'll be off to college, and you'll have an engineering degree and be setting the world on fire… Maybe even married."

"Married? Me? Aunt Mac don't be silly! Who am I supposed to marry?"

"Somebody really special; that's who."

"Well, do I have to think about that right now? Can I just go to therapy instead?"

Mac nods agreeably, "Okay sure. We've got about 15 minutes before we have to leave. Let him play for a bit longer." She halts her son's progress long enough to scoop him up and kiss him, which he tolerates, but when she doesn't return him to his feet immediately before stooping to kiss the baby girls, he grumbles cantankerously and struggles to be free.

"Hello to you too, son." She runs her fingers through his hair with affection before lowering his feet to the floor and setting him free once more to return to his wandering.

She hugs Laura. "Do your homework yet?"

Laura squints as if this is a silly question. "Course I have."

"Good, because Charlie called my office today. After therapy, he wants us to stay a few minutes later than usual. He wants to try something new."

"Like what?"

Mac shrugs, but when she widens her eyes mysteriously and offers only, "Wait and see." Laura suspects it's something good, and the possibilities thrill her just a tad bit more than they scare her.

Instead of asking, "Is something wrong?" or "Am I in trouble?" she asks, Can I at least I have a hint?"

Mac exchanges 'hellos' with Skates before she hums in the negative.

Laura grouses comically, "Fine! Be that way!"

Mac sticks her tongue out at the girl. "I will." she announces with smug satisfaction.

* * *

When her therapy session is over, and her brace is back on, Laura sits on the raised therapy mat, her left knee tucked under her chin as she ties the blindingly bright yellow laces of her high-top sneaker. "Okay Charlie! What's my surprise? I did good today. I know I did. So, spill!"

Comfortable enough with his methods to know that Laura is safe with him, and that she doesn't need to watch his every move with the girl during a typical therapy session, Mac chooses this moment to return the yellow legal pad she's been writing work-related notes to herself into to her tote bag. She leaves her chair and moves closer as Charlie addresses the atypical portion of this visit by, first, feigning ignorance and teasing Laura. "Surprise? Who said anything about a surprise?"

Laura's dark eyes sparkle as she giggles. "Charlie! Come on, man. Tell me already!"

"Well, Okay. Since you wore me out today, and barely broke a sweat doing it."

"Yes!" Laura bobs her chin emphatically.

Charlie holds up his right index finger, silently asking for one last moment of patience. He turns and trots across the therapy room, enters his small cramped office briefly, and then returns with something Laura hadn't expected in the least – a pair of child-size metal crutches with arm cuffs.

She eyes them with innocent wonder, and maybe just a tiny dash of doubt. "Are those for me? I just got my new walker, Charlie."

Charlie shrugs, and says with his lively Jamaican accent, "Because the old one was too short, You've shot up nearly tree inches in the last eight months, child. And maybe… If you tink you can handle them. Want to find out?" He kneels a few inches away from the mat; giving her room to come to her feet.

Laura eyes the walking sticks for two seconds longer, then shrugs and scoots to the edge of the mat. When her feet find the floor, she reaches out, grabs a fistful of Charlie's shirt front, and hauls herself into a standing position. With a determined sigh, she declares, "Gimme those things!"


	5. No

**Author's Note** : Some of you offered very well thought out suggestions regarding my question about birds. I thank you for those. They were delightful to read. Particularly, the recommendations of Viggo, JAG'ed Bones in the Caskett, and Scousedancer. In the end, I decided to go with leaves and the wind rather than birds, but I suspect at least one or two of you may be avid bird watchers. Thanks for the insight.

* * *

Monday, August 31, 2009

Rabb Residence

San Diego, California

18:14 Hours

Harm and Mac are on their knees in the master bathroom watching their two youngest children squabble over toys in the bathtub.

Harm laughs as he wrings out a washcloth and drapes it over the side of the tub. "Son, what are you doing?"

Busy with Shannon, Mac smiles and declares, "Well, gee Dad, isn't it obvious. He's eating a dinosaur."

"What? You didn't get enough to eat at dinner? You have to eat the dinosaur too?

With his wet hair sticking straight up off his head; porcupine-style, Noah squeals and splashes happily as the rubber bathtub toy squeaks in his mouth.

Shannon pushes away the soft sponge that Mac is attempting to wash her face with and reaches out to grab the tail of the toy that is hanging from her brother's mouth. "No!"

Squinting slightly, Harm guesses, "No? As in no, don't eat the dinosaur or no, as in don't wash my face?"

Mac shrugs. "Could be either one. Could be neither. I'm convinced she thinks his name is No."

Harm raises an eyebrow and talks himself through it even as he nods. "No… Noah… And we certainly tell him no often enough. They both hear us say that multiple times a day."

Stunned to find himself relieved of dinosaur, Noah makes a cranky rude noise and takes his toy away from his sister, whose faces immediately turns bright red. When she begins to wail loudly, Noah puts the silly-looking T. Rex back in his mouth and quickly hands her a toy schooner and a rubber duck.

Shannon vehemently tosses both toys out onto the floor, grabs the side of the tub and stands up, reaching out for Mac to take her away from Noah and all his nonsense.

Mac rises to her feet and reaches for a towel before carefully lifting the girl. "You're okay. It's your own fault. You took the toy away from him first, he only took it back."

"Noooo!" The unhappy baby girl tucks herself into Mac's embrace.

"I know, I know. Somebody's sleepy and doesn't feel like sharing. There's a whole bathtub full of toys and you just have to have the only one that is in your brother's mouth. Come on. Let's get you dry and into some warm P J's. You wanna go night-night with Ellie?"

Moving slowly on the tile floor, Mac still manages to find a wet spot and nearly goes down with Shannon in her arms. Panic rises and dies in her throat the same instant that she feels Harm's strong arms wind their way around her from behind and she knows they're safe.

For a second, he holds them close, relieved that he was quick enough. Breathing into his wife's hair, he whispers, "You okay?"

Mac sighs with relief as she nods against his shoulder. "That was close."

Aware that he's turned his back on their son in a bathtub full of water, he queries "Got your sea legs back yet?"

Mac nods again and cuddles their daughter. Pushing gently away from him, she takes exaggerated care as she steps from the room. No sooner than she is clear of the slick tile, she turns back and pokes her head into the room again when Harm calls out, "Noah, No!"

Harm grabs for the confused boy, and assures his mother, "He's okay. I've got him."

Wrapping his naked body in a towel, Harm quickly lifts his son from the tub and replaces the lavender colored lady's shaving razor clenched in his chubby fist with the toy dinosaur. Talking to Mac, as he pulls the plug on the bathtub drain, he says, "Sorry, I didn't think he could reach that shelf."

Mac sighs. "He couldn't… Last week."

Harm smiles at the boy. "Come on, pal. Bath time is over! Mama and Daddy are tired. You've worn us out!" Talking to Mac again, he adds, "I think it's time to Noah-proof the bathrooms in this house."

Mac hums in agreement, but then sounds disappointed when she asks, "Tonight?"

Joining her in their bedroom, Harm caresses her cheek and offers a quick, but sweet kiss before he whispers, "No, Ninja Girl. Not tonight. Maybe we can put it off until this weekend as long as you don't turn your back on him… And hide all the razors and such."

"Harm, I know we have reservations. I know I asked for them, and I know you worked really hard to get them. Will you be mad if I tell you that I'm too tired to bother getting all dressed up to go out."

"Nah, change into some dry clothes and we can snuggle on the back porch as soon as we rid this house of short people."

"That's the same thing we did last year. Following a walk on the beach."

Harm smiles and shrugs. "Worked pretty well, didn't it?"

"Where did the time go, Flyboy? It doesn't feel like it's been two years. Does it?"

"Depends on what time of day you ask me?" Harm runs his fingers through his hair.

"Harm! Be serious!"

He laughs. "I am serious, Sarah. We spend the first 15 months trying to get the babies. Now we've got them. So, we've spent the last ten chasing them. You're not the only one too tired to go out, but…" He brushes the pad of his thumb over her bottom lip and whispers, "I wouldn't trade a second of it."

She wraps her arms around him and hugs him tightly until the two children they hold began to squirm uncomfortably, and Laura calls out from the living room, "Uh, guys…" leaving an unspoken question hanging in the air.

Mac kisses him quickly and hands Shannon over. "You dress them, I'll see what Laura needs?" She steps away quickly, mildly concerned about the uncertainty she heard in Laura's voice. A second later she finds the girl standing at the window beside the front door. "What's up, baby?"

Laura points out the window. "Why are Grandma and Grandpa here? I thought they were supposed to be gone for two more weeks. Is something wrong?"

Just to verify that she heard correctly, Mac joins her at the window and pushes aside the lace curtain to stare in wonder as Frank and Trish exit the pale sage-colored Chrysler in the driveway. As they step up onto the porch, Mac opens the front door. "What happened to Paris? You've only been gone six days?"

Frank chuckles good-naturedly. "Nothing happened to Paris. It's still on the map." Before he allows his wife to precede him over the threshold, he squeezes her shoulders affectionately. "She begged me to take off work and come to Paris with her for three weeks. She thinks I work too hard. So, after four days in Paris, yesterday morning, we're sitting in some fancy-pants little sidewalk café drinking coffee and eating the most ridiculously priced croissants you've ever tasted in your life. I'm pouring over travel brochures, trying to pin down an itinerary for the day, and this woman puts down her coffee cup, looks at me and declares, "Frank, I want to go home. I miss my grandbabies."

Trish thumps his bicep with her handbag. "Oh hush, old man! You're no better than me." She tells Mac, "Last night he was all in a snit because he couldn't connect his tablet to the Internet, and he wanted to wish Laura well before her first day of school, and make sure that she had everything she needed for the day. When I reminded him of the time difference between Paris and here, he became positively irascible."

"Can you blame me? What are the wonders of Paris compared to our Laura?"

Laura giggles. "Hi Grandma, hi Grandpa! I'm gonna sit down, then you can hug me."

Trish raises a curious eyebrow and smiles. Frank exclaims, "Hey! What happened to the walker? You traded it in?"

Laura shakes her head as she slowly crosses the room. "Nah, I still got it. Charlie said I can't take my new crutches to school yet. Not until I get better on them, and don't fall down so much."

Frank frowns. "She falls down?"

Laura nods as Mac answers, "With regularity. Charlie adjusted them for her properly. He told us to expect it until she gets used to the difference between the crutches and walker. Before he let her take a single step, he spent 45 minutes with her practicing safe falls just to make sure she can handle it. She can't rely on the crutches for the same level of support she got from the walker, but he says it will help her in her quest to play baseball next year. The clutches will force her to bear more of her own weight."

Laura shrugs. "Gotta get stronger, if I'm gonna run bases."

Looking at their concerned faces, Mac assures Laura's grandparents, "Not to worry. She's being very closely monitored. No crutches at school yet, and even when she's home, for every hour she spends on them, she has to be off them for two, until Charlie tells her otherwise."

"I didn't think that sounded fair at first, I'm hardly on them at all, but I've only had them for four days… and my arms are sore."

Frank sets a large heavy shopping bag down on the coffee table and joins her on the couch. "Your arms? Not your legs."

Laura shrugs. "My legs get tired, but they don't hurt. Not so far."

Mac explains. "Right now, her arms are stronger than her legs. So, she's relying on them more to compensate of the difference in support between the walker and the crutches. Charlie says as she adjusts, her aches and pains will likely shift to new places. And, I think her whole body gets tired. She's gone to bed a half hour earlier than usual every night since we brought them home, but I can report no major muscle spasms or cramps so far. She gets a little frustrated with her slower pace, and as of yet, I think the walker is still more convenient. She can put things in the basket and carry things around with her walker. She can't do that on the crutches."

"Not yet. But I'm gonna figure it out. The crutches will go places the walker won't."

Joining them on the sofa, Trish pushes Laura's bangs out of her face. "Just be patient with yourself. Don't overdo it, darling. There's no reason to rush."

"Even when she becomes proficient on the crutches, I think the walker will still be going to school. Right now, her walker basically gets weighed down by her book bag."

"Charlie says he doesn't want me carrying a backpack full of books to school every day that weigh more than me. He says that will give me a bad back and that will be way worse than having a bad leg. He says not to give myself any new reasons for therapy."

Frank chuckles. "Charlie sounds like a smart man, maybe I should meet him."

Laura's eyes go wide. "Grandpa, you've never met Charlie? No…" She answers her own question. "I guess you haven't. But that's just because you're always at work when I go to therapy."

Trish nods as she points. "See, you work too hard."

Frank rolls his eyes.

Trish ignores him. "Where are my babies?"

Mac points. "In our bedroom. They've just had their bath. Harm's dressing them. Quick, if you hurry, maybe you can get to them while they still smell nice and clean."

Trish abandons the sofa and disappears so quickly behind the bedroom doorway that Frank can't help but shake his head. With his eyes sparkling merrily, he promises, "I swear. She really does trust you to take care of your own children."

Mac shrugs. "I know that."

Laura smiles. "She's just a really good grandma."

"She is?" Frank teases.

Laura nods emphatically. "Trust me, Grandpa. I know what I'm talking about."

Frank pats her head affectionately. "Laura, honey, has there ever been a time when you didn't know what you were talking about?"

Laura raises an eyebrow and purses her lips. "I hope not."

Chuckling, Frank reaches into the bag on the coffee table and rummages around momentarily until he pulls out a small plain white box that, when opened, reveals a hot pink beret which he positions on top of Laura's head with just the right tilt to it. "There. I told your grandmother it would suit you."

Laura starts to get up, and Mac stalls her. "Stay where you are. I'll bring you a mirror."

As Mac leaves the room, Trish returns with Shannon in her arms and Harm following close behind. He hands Noah over to his grandfather as Trish declares, "Frank, she's talking - and we've missed it!"

Frank looks at the sleepy baby resting in his wife's arms and raises an eyebrow. "She's talking?"

On his way to the kitchen, Harm holds up his index finger. "One word."

Frank smiles. "She's got to start somewhere, doesn't she?"

"Sure, but the way Mom says, 'She's talking…' makes it sound as if Shannon is reciting the Gettysburg Address."

"It's her first word. That's more important than the Gettysburg Address."

"And I do agree with you Mom, though I'm not sure Lincoln would."

Trish rolls her eyes. "Not to be irreverent son, but Lincoln is dead! Furthermore, he has been for 144 years. So, I don't think he's saying much of anything these days."

Mac joins them once again and offers a small hand mirror to Laura as she informs them, "Five days ago we were over the moon. She spoke! One clear and concise word. There was no second guessing whether or not it was just baby babble. Only trouble is, after five days of watching and listening – well, sometimes I'm positive she understands what she's saying. Then, there are times when it's not so clear."

Harm returns from the kitchen carrying two baby bottles. He hands one to each child and offers to take Shannon into his arms. In response, she snuggles deeper into her grandmother's embrace and shakes her head. "No."

Frank chuckles. "The girl knows what she wants. She must be taking lessons from Laura."

Laura stops admiring her new hat long enough to smile. I'm trying to get her to say 'Laura' but so far all she wants to say is 'no."

Mac nods "Yeah, but if you wait long enough, she will look directly at her brother and say the same word, and it's not just when she's annoyed with him. Sometimes, she says it in the sweetest tone; like she's trying to get his attention. I swear, she thinks that is his name."

Trying to coax another performance from the child, Trish leaves her spot beside Laura, and perches on the arm of the sofa closest to Frank and points to the child in his lap. "Shannon… Who's that?"

The baby's eyes track her grandmother's fingertip, but Shannon doesn't make a sound. She's more interested in her bedtime bottle.

Mac shrugs "Sorry. She's sleepy. She's more apt to do it first thing in the morning, or when she's irritated with him, but right now she's winding down for the day."

Trish kisses the top of the baby's head. "That's okay. I can wait, darling." She reaches out with affection and runs her fingers through her grandson's unruly mop of hair trying, although she knows it's useless, to somehow smooth it down into a more proper style. "And what about our boy?"

Harm chuckles. "So far, he's still more interested in moving than talking."

Trish nods. "Sounds familiar. If the two of you are telling him 'no' even half as often as I did you at the same age, then, I wouldn't be surprised if Shannon does think that's his name. We brought gifts back from Paris for each of them, but since bedtime is right around the corner, maybe you should give them to them tomorrow. They don't need to be overexcited right before bedtime, and Frank and I don't want to overstay our welcome tonight." She pauses to smile at her son and daughter-in-law. We've just missed the three of them, and we wanted to say. 'happy anniversary."

Frank nods his head in the direction of the bag on the coffee table; not wishing to disturb his grandson's night-time feeding. "You'll need both hands."

Curious, Harm peers into the bag. He quickly sets aside the two smaller gift-wrapped packages meant for the babies. The last item he tries to remove is a lightweight box that is large enough to barely fit the width of the bag. After a few seconds of trying to free the box without damaging the bag. He picks it up off the coffee table, bag and all and, moving to stand near her, he points the bottom of the bag in Mac's direction.

Mac tugs gently from her end as Harm does the same from his.

Even before the box is opened, Trish tells them, "I want to have it framed for you, but it took longer to finish that I hoped it would. I didn't want it to be late. I ordered it the day Harriett confirmed Noah's impending arrival."

Mac's eyes widen noticeably. "Trish, that was over a year and ½ ago. What on earth is in here?"

Trish shrugs. "Open it."

Harm and Mac share a look as he holds the box and she lifts the lid.

Folded carefully into the box under protective layers of tissue paper is the largest and most elegantly stitched example of needlework Mac has ever personally laid eyes on. The soft cotton-blend fabric must be 3 ½ feet in width and 5 feet in length. In the center of it is the silhouette of a gnarled and ancient oak tree. Most of its delicate leaves bear the finely embroidered names of family members, along with their birth and, where applicable, their death dates. Some of the branches stretch back as far as five generations. Each person represented is linked to either Harm or Mac, and while most of the names are linked by blood; there are a few precious exceptions. On either side of the tree there is a single unattached leaf that appears to be floating freely as though carried on the wind. One clearly acknowledges Mattie's place in the family, the other, Chloe's. Additionally, directly below a branch that bears a leaf that indicates not only the date of Laura's birth, but the date of her adoption as well, there sits a friendly black dog with soft but eager eyes.

Harm smiles and wraps his arms around Mac who touches the delicate material with nothing less than pure wonder and gratitude, and Laura giggles with delight. "Aww, look! It even has Candy!" She throws her arms around Frank so suddenly that Noah squeaks in protest when he loses his bottle.

Frank kisses the crown of her head. "Well, of course, it has Candy. Who needs a family tree without a good dog resting in its shade?"

Hearing her name, Candy leaves her comfy pillow and trots over to pick up the dropped baby bottle and deliver it to Laura.

"Thanks girl," Laura rubs the dog's ears. "but now he has to have a new one."

Harm takes the bottle from Laura and wipes it off with the towel that's still slung over his shoulder before trotting once more into the kitchen to rinse the cap and nipple off with warm water. "I think he'll survive as long as we rinse. He crawls around on the floor all day. Half of the day he's nose-to-nose with the dog. I'm sure she's gotten just as many germs from him as he's gotten from her. Neither of them seems to be seriously ill."

Sleepy Shannon watches all of this, and as Harm returns every bit as quickly as he left, hoping to get there before Noah starts fussing over the temporary absence of his bottle, Shannon reaches out to her older brother, offering him her own with a softly spoken, "No."


	6. Next Door to Perfect Heathens

**Next Door to Perfect Heathens**

* * *

 **Author's Note** :

CRB… More than I can express with mere words, thank you for getting in touch. Candy was rescued from Town Lake shelter in Austin, Texas. After being rescued at the approximate age of one year (she was forcibly removed from her original owner's care.) She weighed only 32 pounds at the time of her removal from that home. For a Labrador Retriever of that age, that weight is positively criminal. She was starving! She was badly beaten up, with multiple open wounds, she was positive for heart worms, but fortunately not beyond the point where treatment would be beneficial, and her first owner had used her for target practice.

One of the first things agencies do when looking for a suitable service dog trainee who wasn't specifically bred for the job is play with them in order to gauge their ability to interact with people appropriately. They also have several other tests to help them determine which dogs are suitable candidates for service dog status and which are not, but I won't go into all that here.

Candy passed all their tests in spite of the abuses she endured – a very rare occurrence for such a dog. Once they saw her file, they decided to give her a chance at training with the understanding that she might well fail training and have to be adopted out simply as some lucky person's very well-trained pet. However, she breezed through service dog training like a rock star. Throughout our time together, her general attitude was, I will do anything I possibly can to help you as long as you treat me nice, and bring the food! She was trained by Service Dogs, Inc. (formally known as Texas Hearing and Service Dogs) they are located in a little town called Dripping Springs up north of Austin. They are easy to find on facebook, where you will be able to find contact information including phone numbers, their address, and instructions for making any donation you choose.

I was beyond lucky to be partnered with my sweet girl for 11 years and four months, until the time of her passing. In all the time she was with me, I felt driven to make up for that first rotten year of her life, and the Houston Humane Society played a very important role in helping me do that.

If you are so inclined, you may make a donation in Candy's name at any one of these places I have mentioned. I am not absolutely certain about the 501-C3 status of Town Lake shelter in Austin, but I believe that each of these agencies is a nonprofit organization that relies on the generosity of big-hearted people for their operational budgets. Candy and I thank you! Doggie high-five!

* * *

Monday, September 21, 2009

Rabb Residence

San Diego, California

06:47 HRS

Laura opens the back door and smiles at Elizabeth Hawkes. "Good morning. Aunt Mac is in the shower, but she said to tell you that you can come in if you want to… but you might want to go home and get some ear plugs before you do."

Despite the noise being made by the Rabb's two very unhappy toddlers, Skates smiles and steps over the threshold. "That's okay, I'll risk the possible damage to my eardrums. I'm going to have to get used to it anyway." She steps into the living room and deposits her 10-month-old daughter, Ellie, into one of the family's all-service playpens. She smooths the fabric of her maternity top as she pats her own expanding belly. "In a few months, my house is going to become twice as noisy as it is now."

While putting kibble in her dog's bowl, Laura asks, "Do we know yet? Boy or girl?"

Skates shakes her head. "Keeter and I are still discussing that. He wants to know. I don't."

Laura frowns curiously. "You don't want to know if you're having a boy or a girl?"

The retired navy pilot laughs and shakes her head again as she runs her fingers through her daughter's messy crop of sun-kissed sandy colored hair. "I didn't even know I was having this one until after she arrived. It isn't that I don't want to know. It would just be nice if there was at least a little bit of surprise attached to the next one as well.

Laura shrugs and then nods. "Like waiting until Christmas morning to open your presents just for the fun of it, even though you think you already know what you're getting." She pats Candy's head as the dog begins to munch and then crosses the kitchen, props her crutches up against the bar and climbs onto the bar stool where breakfast waits for her.

Skates nods. "Yeah, exactly! Keeter doesn't understand that, or he's just impatient. He wants to know everything now… Right now!"

Laura giggles. "Gosh…" She wrinkles her nose and shakes her head as she drops a sausage link into her bowl of oatmeal and uses the edge of her spoon to break it into bite size pieces. "I can't be upset with him for that. Most of the time, I want to know everything right now too. I like knowing things. It makes me crazy when people think they shouldn't answer my questions just because I'm a kid. Lots of people do that. I get told a lot that I should wait until I'm older, or that it's not the right time for me to know something. So, I get it. He wants to know. He's just a big kid anyway. But I like your way too. Sometimes, when it's something special - like a baby, or a Christmas present - it's more fun to wait."

"You know, most kids your age sneak around the entire month before Christmas trying to find out what's in the packages underneath the tree ahead of time."

Laura rolls her eyes. "That's my friend, Liam. He gets in trouble every year trying to open his packages before Christmas. I like the excited feeling from not knowing. I think Noah is going to be like Liam too. He's too curious. I don't think he can't help it. He gets fussed at every day for touching things he's not supposed to touch."

"I heard Mac fussing at him yesterday evening. As near as I could tell, he was undressing himself on the beach."

"You heard them at your house?"

"Keeter and I were having dinner on the back porch."

"Uncle Harm gave Noah a bath before dinner." Laura points to a large potted ficus tree beside the back door. "Grandma Trish gave that tree to us a few days ago. Yesterday, Noah decided to play in the dirt." She pauses for a bite of oatmeal.

"Hence, the need for a bath before dinner?"

Laura nods. "He was dir-tttty! He even had dirt in his hair! Us girls were on the back porch. Aunt Mac was helping me with my homework. Shannon got all mad because she was playing with that little red and blue plastic ball toy that has all the holes in it so little kids can put the shapes through the matching holes…"

Skates nods. "I know which one you're talking about."

She was trying to put the star in the round hole, and she was mad because it wouldn't fit. She was making a bunch of noise, trying to talk to it… or yell at it. I tried to show her which hole the star fit in. Aunt Mac tried too, but she didn't want our help. When we tried to touch the toy, she screamed louder. So, Aunt Mac said, 'Fine, do it yourself then!' Uncle Harm came outside to see what all the noise was about. He had Noah all clean and wrapped up in a towel - Shannon says 'Da' now. She means 'Dad."

"Yes, I know. I've heard her."

"Sometimes, Noah says it too, but Aunt Mac says he doesn't do it on purpose yet. She says he only does it when he's copying Shannon. Uncle Harm says he knows what he's saying. They are so silly! Aunt Mac goes, 'Does not!' Uncle Harm goes, 'Does too!" They sound like five-year-olds." Laura giggles. "But they're just teasing each other." Laura shrugs. "Anyway, as soon as Shannon saw Uncle Harm on the porch, she held up the toy and yelled, 'Da!' She's so funny. She didn't want us to even touch that toy, but she let Uncle Harm show her where all the pieces fit."

Skates takes an educated guess where the story is leading. "So, he was busy playing with Shannon for just a minute, Mac was helping you … and Noah - he must've made a break for it, right?"

Laura nods emphatically. "He still likes to play with my walker, but he doesn't need it anymore. Except, he still can't walk down the stairs. He tries, but he gets nervous, so he turns around and crawls down the stairs backward. Yesterday, we looked up and he was halfway down the back-porch steps, but he was still wrapped up in his towel. He kept stepping on the end, and he didn't like it. So, he just took it off. By the time they caught him he was butt naked, headed straight for the ocean, and laughing like mad!"

Skates chuckles. "Time to get a baby gate for the back porch."

"We have two already. One is too short. Noah tries to climb on it. Uncle Harm is afraid he will knock it over and then slide down the porch stairs on top of it. I told them they could use the one they bought when Charlie didn't want me to go upstairs. It's taller but, Aunt Mac didn't move it out yesterday. She uses it to keep him from crawling upstairs in the house. Shannon won't get on the stairs yet. She's still kinda scared of them. She's still holds on to stuff when she walks, and since Noah was in the house with Uncle Harm…"

Elizabeth nods. "All it takes is a couple of seconds… And, you've got a naked baby boy headed straight for the waves."

Laura nods as she bites into her piece of toast. She takes a sip of milk and then says, "He sure does like taking his clothes off. I don't think it matters what he's wearing. He wants it off."

"I think that comes hard-wired into the Y- chromosome, Laura. I've yet to meet a male who doesn't like being naked."

"Aunt Mac, says the neighbors are going to think she's raising a houseful of heathens – Shannon yelling at her toys, Noah running around naked, and me falling down all the time and playing baseball in the ocean."

Skates takes the bar stool next to Laura's and pats her on the back. "Don't worry about it. You're in good company. I'm just two houses down with my heathens. Keeter would go skinny dipping every other night, if left to his own devices, and he is a lot bigger than Noah. The neighbors will complain about that, long before they complain about Noah. What are they crying about this morning?"

"They're in baby time-out; separate cribs. Noah was playing with Uncle Harm's watch, but it was okay, because Uncle Harm gave it to him. Shannon took it away from him and told him 'no.' Then, Noah got mad, took it back, and threw it in the toilet. Uncle Harm had to go to work this morning without his watch!"

Skates groans as she laughs. "Thanks for the warning." She looks down at her own belly. "At least I know what I'm in for."

Laura shakes her head and gently pats her friend's belly. "You still have some time to get ready. Baby Keeter has to at least learn to crawl before he can throw things in the toilet."

Mac steps into her kitchen from the master bedroom and groans when she realizes what they're talking about. "Those two! They are trying to kill me!"


	7. Ora!

**Ora!**

* * *

 **Author's Note** : Today, I watched two episodes of a three-episode story arc where David James Elliott and Catherine Bell were guest stars on the most recent episodes of NCIS: Los Angeles. All I can say is that 14 years later, Harm and Mac are both still world-class idiots! I am now returning to my own little alternate universe where people are smart enough to allow happiness.

And, Alexa has just informed me that today is "Hug a Drummer" day. Honestly, I don't know where people come up with this stuff. However, the mere mention of such a date has given me a vague ideal for a future story line. I will let y'all know when the story becomes more than just a shapeless zygote; still waiting for its bones to form.

Steamboat: Laura has asked me to tell you that egg yolk is slimy, and she does not like slimy! That's why it can't touch her other food. Along those same lines, the oatmeal needed sausage because Aunt Mac made it. Apparently, her oatmeal is slightly runny and, therefore, also slimy. Uncle Harm's oatmeal is better; a bit thicker, but not so thick as to be considered cement-like. She also says thank you very much. It has come to our attention that very few readers pay that much attention to minor details. She and I are both tickled pink to know that there are at least a few of you out there who not only pay attention to detail when reading, but apparently, you also retain those details indefinitely. We love you!

* * *

Saturday, September 26, 2009

Sibley Memorial Hospital P.O.B

San Diego, California

10:29 HRS

Charlie Waters looks at his patient and sighs over the small insignificant bruises that are not hidden by her clothing. They are no more alarming then any of the normal scrapes and bumps that occur with most children her age. It's not their severity that worries him. It's the sheer number.

"How many bruises have you got in places I can't see, girl?"

Laura shrugs. "Just a couple. But must of them are just little ones, Charlie." She holds the thumb and forefinger of her right hand less than ¼ inch apart. When he offers her a look of skepticism, she adds, "I promise. There's only one bad one, and that one wasn't my fault." She twists sideways slightly from her perch on top of the raised therapy mat and lifts the tail of her T- shirt; putting the ugly purple bruise on her left side on display. She smiles happily as if the dark contusion is a badge of honor instead of cause for concern.

Charlie momentarily covers his face with his hands before he says, "Now look here, you beautiful little daredevil, when I gave you those walking sticks, it was so you can get stronger. It was not a license for you to become a stunt woman!"

Laura giggles and hugs him zealously. "Oh Charlie! You worry too much. I'm fine! It's just a bruise, and anyway, I told you, this one isn't my fault! It's not because I fell down. The little baby one are my fault, but not this one!"

"Well, then where did it come from?"

"I was practicing baseball… On the sand, not in the water! And, I swung at the ball, and I didn't fall over!"

Charlie looks to Harm, and Harm nods without alarm at the sight of the round bruise on his niece's side. "She's okay. Scared us too, but you should've seen it two days ago. It looks much better. She's on the mend."

Charlie chews on his lower lip and addresses his patient once more. "Okay, tell me the rest. If you didn't fall over, where did it come from."

Laura wrinkles her nose and shrugs again. "I told you I swung at the ball. I missed, but the ball didn't miss me," She grins again and touches the bruise with soft hesitant fingers. "Liam got me pretty good, huh?"

"Beamed you, did he?"

Laura nods. "Yeah, but he didn't do it on purpose."

Harm speaks up from his place among the small cluster of chairs usually reserved for waiting parents or other family members. "Liam took it a lot harder than she did."

"He was bumming me out!" Laura announces. "He got all sad and mopey like Eeyore until I yelled at him to stop it and dumped a bucket of ocean water on his head!"

Charlie squints. "The poor boy felt bad for hurting you, and you tried to drown him?"

Laura nods her head. "He was taking it way too serious, he needed to laugh."

"And a bucket of water over the head made him laugh?"

"Sure did! Then he knocked me over, and we went swimming."

Charlie smiles when Harm supplies, "I think she's been taking sparring lessons from her cousins. They are very competitive and a bit rough with each other."

"Ahh, I see now, and you've been reading Winnie the Pooh to your little cousins. Am I right?"

"And Paddington Bear too, because Uncle Harm used to read those to me, but how do you know that, Charlie?"

"I was just guessing that you might be a little too old for Eeyore unless you were reading books to entertain a younger audience."

"Shannon likes Christopher Robin. Noah likes Tigger and Pooh."

"And who likes Eeyore?"

"Charlie everybody loves Eeyore! You just can't help it. He's so sad all the time, you just want to hug him."

"Okay, on your feet, little mama. Let's test out this new brace, shall we."

Laura grimaces. The old one didn't hurt me like the one before it did. I don't know why I had to get a new one."

Charlie lectures patiently yet comically, "You're not supposed to wait until it hurts before you get a new one. And you needed the new one because I couldn't adjust your old one anymore. You've grown 4 inches taller in the last two years. Girl, if you don't want new braces, stop growing!"

Laura shrugs. "I have not. Not four inches. Only three and ¾. Aunt Mac says so. She measures me, just like she measures Shannon and Noah. She makes a mark on the back of their bedroom door. And anyway, I can't help it, Charlie. I don't think I'm allowed to stop growing."

"Well then, you're just going to have to suck it up and deal with new braces that are long enough to accommodate these growing legs of yours. Come on. Let's go, lazy bones, on your feet! You think I have all day? I have my own kids to go home and read to."

"Okay, okay! I'm comin'. Geez, Charlie! Laura grimaces, and Harm shakes his head, silently laughing at the pair of old pals.

* * *

Later, at home, Laura frowns when they walk in the front door to greet friends and family who have come over to spend Saturday afternoon doing nothing together, and her aunt's first question is, "How did it go."

"Charlie says no baseball or crutches for a whole week!"

Harm nods in response to his wife's raised eyebrow as she stands at the refrigerator, putting ice in a glass, and he removes Laura's walker from the coat closet, unfolds it, and exchanges it for the crutches she's on. "He wants to give her time to adjust to the new brace with the added support from the walker… And, he wants to give her bruises, self-inflicted or otherwise, time to heal."

"Ugh!" Laura groans.

Keeter laughs. "Give yourself a break, runt. Even prize fighters take a day off every now and then." He nods to the old brace tucked under Harm's arm. "Looks like he let you keep the old one."

"Yeah, he said he couldn't use it for his donated equipment program because it was custom made for me, and the odds of it fitting someone else perfectly… Well, Charlie says it would be easier to count half the trillions of stars in the sky."

Keeter shrugs. Hey, that's a compliment. It just means you're one of a kind, and we all knew that anyway. No surprise there."

"Yeah, but I don't know what to do with it unless…" Laura makes it halfway across the living room before she loses her balance and lands firmly on her backside.

After nearly a solid month of this type of occurrence, no one rushes to her side in a state of near panic. Every adult in the room simply gives her a modicum of attention; several of them calling her name and waiting for her to sound the all clear, letting them know that she is okay.

When it takes two seconds longer than normal to get a reply from her, Noah abandons his toys and toddles over to investigate. Squatting on his heels beside her, the concerned little boy studies her face. "Ora?"

Frustrated with only herself, Laura grimaces, but reaches out and pulls the boy into her lap, hugging him tightly even as she sighs. "I'm okay, Noah."

Taking her at her word, he disentangles himself from her embrace, but before returning to his toy blocks that are spread out all over the coffee table, he pats his older cousin on the head affectionately and looks to his parents to repeat, "Ora."

Laura is halfway back to her feet, before she catches on and pauses to look curiously at Noah for a moment before turning to her aunt. "Is he just babbling or …"

Mac spreads a hand over her chest in surprise and smiles softly. "No, baby, I don't think he is babbling. Sometimes the soft 'L' sound is hard for babies to manage when they first start talking."

Harm goes down on one knee between his son and his niece. He pats her on the head, emulating Noah. "Laura's okay."

Noah smiles and nods his head. "Ora."

Skates laughs when Trish crosses the room and scoops the boy up in her arms and kisses the top of his head, only to have him frown, grunt in protest, and squirm to be free once more.

"Oh alright!" She returns him to his feet and his blocks. "I know you don't care, Mister, but I'm proud of you."

Noah holds up one of his blocks, putting it on display. "Ora."

Smiling brightly, Laura crawls over to the coffee table, and takes the offered block. "You want to me to play with you, Noah?"

Noah gives her another block.

"Okay, little guy. I'm on the construction crew, you're the demolition man."

She stacks a few blocks together, building a short tower, and then lets him have the fun of in knocking it down. Then, she repeats the process, making the tower taller this time. "You keep talking, I'll keep building."

Noah nods his head with exuberance and impatiently watches her stack more blocks.

Patting the boy's head, Frank takes a seat on the sofa. "Hey, tell us about the new brace."

Laura shrugs. It looks just like the old one. Except it's a little bit taller and I got a different color design this time. Blue and green bubbles instead of pink and purple."

Keeter reminds her… "And you're going to do what with the old one?"

Noah knocks down another tower and claps his hands together happily.

Shannon and Ellie sit on a nearby blanket, playing together, and wonder what all the fuss is about.

Laura resumes construction as she raises an eyebrow; momentarily at a loss. "Oh yeah, I never said, did I?"

"Nope you didn't. You got interrupted when your six hit the floor rather abruptly."

"Yeah, I'm getting kind of tired of that, but Charlie says I'll get better support from the taller brace and It should stop happening as much. I can't give the old one away, and I don't need it anymore. I told Charlie maybe we would take it apart and use the pieces to help build one of our robots."

Keeter moves closer and inspects the vibrant shades of blue topaz, and lime green in the molded plastic portions of the new leg brace as he takes the old one from Harm. Looking it over curiously, he purses his lips together thoughtfully and nods. "Okay, maybe. If you don't mind robot parts that are pink and purple."

Laura shakes her head. "I don't mind at all."

Keeter turns a speculative eye on the vivid colors visible in both of her braces. After a moment, he points to his own obnoxiously loud Hawaiian shirt. "You and me kid! Not everybody can pull off these bold colors with such outstanding finesse!"

Laura wrinkles her nose comically. "Keeter, I don't know what you've got, but it's outstanding, alright. That shirt looks like it belongs on a Mexican pinata shaped like a parrot!"


	8. Kee

**Kee**

* * *

Saturday, October 3, 2009

Rabb Residence

San Diego, California

10:47 HRS

Mac meets her neighbor from two doors down on the back-porch steps and eagerly takes the retired Navy pilot's daughter from her arms. "Hi Ellie. Do you want to come play at my house today? Shannon is waiting for you."

She turns her attention to Beth and smiles. "Good morning. The keys are on the bar. Come on in."

As Mac walks back up the stairs, The sandy-haired child in her arms points toward the back door. "Sha-sha."

Mac smiles and runs her fingers through the little girl's hair affectionately. "That's right, Ellie. You get to play with Sha-sha today, and speaking of, we better get back in there." Mac trots for the back door. "Shannon will behave herself left alone with Laura for 5 minutes – Noah – well, that boy can't help but find something to get into every two minutes even with both his parents in the house!"

Beth chuckles. "He's not bad, he's just – really curious."

Mac groans comically. "About everything!"

Skates asks, "The guys leave already?"

Mac nods. "Sturges is in town. Talking to Ellie she adds, "Daddy and Uncle Harm are going to meet him at the gym." She points at Ellie. "You know, Beth, if she gets anymore sun, she's going to go completely blonde."

"Yes, I know, and she hates putting on sunscreen. Yesterday afternoon when Keeter got home, she was screaming at the top of her lungs because I was putting sunscreen on her face and arms. He literally came through the door asking, "What the devil are you doing; killing her?" When I explained that I was only trying to keep her from getting sunburned, he declared, 'Well, stop that, Mama. She don't like it!' Then, he scooped her up… and, wouldn't you know it, the little stinker was all smiles!"

Mac allows Beth into the house ahead of her as Ellie says, "Kee?"

Stepping into the house behind the little girl's mother, Mac removes her key ring from the peg below the shelf beside the back door.

As the marine hands her keys over to the child, Beth smiles and shakes her head. "That's not what she's asking for."

"No?" Mac curiously makes eye contact with the child who promptly hands the keys back to her.

Beth shakes her head again as Mac returns her keys to their proper place. "She started doing that two nights ago. I wanted to call and tell you about it, but it was 03:00."

Mac chuckles. "You should've called, I was awake."

"What were you doing awake at that hour?"

"Not sleeping - and I can't even blame it on one of my kids. All three of them were out and down for the count. So, she's not asking for keys?"

"Nope. She woke me up saying that. Calling out from her crib."

Mac studies the girl. "Ellie, Kee?"

The child smiles brightly and nods her head. "Kee."

Mac squints. "Okay, I give. If she's not asking for keys, then what?"

"Hi Skates. Hello Ellie." Laura interrupts politely from her kitchen bar stool.

Beth waves in greeting. "Good morning, Laura." She turns her attention back to Mac but pauses again; interrupted by the aroma in the air. "Oh God! What smells so good?"

Mac chuckles and pats her friend's round belly as she says to the girl in her arms, "I think your little brother's hungry!"

Skates objects comically. "Hey, he might be another girl."

Still smiling, Mac crosses the room and lowers the girl into Noah's highchair since Noah is currently perched on the seat of Laura's walker. "Laura wanted french toast and bacon this morning. Harm made it for her. There's still plenty leftover and it should still be warm. Help yourself."

Noticing that his highchair has been commandeered by someone else, Noah tries to stand up on the seat of the walker and Laura is quick to reach over and grab him; slipping two fingers securely into the waistband of his denim shorts while he looks at his mother and makes a rude noise in complaint.

"Stop that, young man. You can share. I promise, it won't kill you, and sit down before you fall down!"

"I got him, Aunt Mac."

"I realize that, baby. Thank you, but he doesn't need to get into the habit of standing on the seat of your walker. That's just trouble looking for a place to happen."

Mac returns her attention to Skates and raises an eyebrow.

Understanding the prompt, Ellie's mother returns to the previous conversation with ease. As she quickly fixes herself a plate, she whispers, "Dad."

Mac's gaze slides to the little girl in Noah's highchair once again. For a time, she simply stares. However, after a careful moment's consideration, she shrugs. "Why not? Nearly everybody calls him Keeter."

Beth who is busy cutting a piece of dry french toast in half, groans in mild frustration before she picks up one of the halves of toast and wraps a piece of bacon in it. Taking a bite, she groans again, this time in satisfaction. Holding up a finger, she silently asks for patience as she quickly retrieves a drinking glass from the proper cabinet, pours herself some milk, and shuts the refrigerator door with a foot as she washes down the bite of food.

Mac chuckles. "Do you want some syrup to go with that?"

Beth shakes her head and talks around the hand shielding her mouth from view. "No, sorry. I don't need it. I don't need this." She holds up what's left of her impromptu sandwich. I've already had breakfast. It just smells so good. If I'm not careful, you're going to have to change my name to the Hindenburg. I'm not sick like I was with the girls, and Harm is a better chef than Keeter. If it's not something one commonly prepares on a barbecue grill, or in a chili pot, Keeter is clueless." She shrugs. "Harm's even better than me!"

"You can raid our fridge any time; day or night."

On the verge of helping herself to another bite, the expectant mother pauses. "Mac, you might want to rethink that invitation."

"Beth, you gave birth to my daughter. You can have anything in my house… except for my kids and my husband."

Laura giggles as Skates declares, "Good, because I don't want them! I've got my hands full with my own!" She tucks another piece of bacon into the scrap of sandwich she has left. "I do not want her calling him, Keeter. She's supposed to call him, Dad. He, on the other hand, doesn't seem to mind"

"That does not surprise me - not in the least!" Mac's gaze slides back to her son, who is still on his feet. "Noah, I said sit down, son."

When she raises an eyebrow, the dark-haired little boy slowly lowers his backside to the seat of Laura's walker once more."

"Thank you."

Noah points to Ellie in his highchair, and in response, Mac offers the girl a small piece of french toast.

Noah growls in irritation and, laughing at him, his mother growls back which causes him to squeal with laughter.

Mac picks the boy up and hugs him. "That's better. Stop being so selfish. It's okay if Ellie sits in your highchair. You aren't using it."

From the highchair beside Ellie, Shannon reaches out and flexes her little fingers; making her own noise.

When Beth raises an eyebrow, Laura supplies, "She wants bacon," When Beth reaches for platter on the kitchen counter, Laura adds, "but don't give her any."

Mac chimes in. "Not unless you want to do the Heimlich on a baby this morning. She chokes on it every time."

"Every time?"

Mac nods. "Don't ask me why. She doesn't choke on anything else. Only bacon. She begs for the stuff… and then chokes on it… Every time. It doesn't matter how big or how small the piece that you give her is."

Skates looks at the girl apologetically. "Sorry honey, Mama said no." She asks Mac, "Does Noah have trouble with it?"

Laura shakes her head. "Noah eats anything that won't eat him first… Except for pineapple. He does not like pineapple."

"Well, then he fits right in with the two of you."

Laura grins as if this is a source of great pride. "I know, right? Keeter's weird. How come he doesn't want Ellie to call him, Dad?"

Skates rolls her eyes. "I've told him that's the way it's supposed to be, but no matter how many times I say it, he just shrugs and says, 'She can call me anything she wants to, long as she says it would love."

Mac declares, "Oh, he is absolutely besotted."

Beth nods her head. "Who would've ever thought that the love of Jack Keeter's life would be, not only female, but also under two feet tall."

Because it's no surprise to her, Laura changes the subject slightly. "I'm trying to teach the baby's how to say 'mom' and 'dad' in different languages."

Skates squints. "That's good, but shouldn't they fully grasp the concept of mom and dad in English, first?"

Laura shrugs. "Uncle Harm said I could."

Mac nods. "And all the books say that it's easiest to become bilingual when you're young. Besides, before Laura can teach them anything, she first has to learn it herself. I think it's good for all of them."

Skates tilts her head to one side and looks at her daughter. "Mac, how many different languages do you speak?"

"Fluently? Four. With a handful of useful phrases in a few others."

"Laura, do you think you can get Ellie to say, 'Dad?"

Laura eyes the little girl with circumspect before she shrugs again. "I can try. But if she doesn't want to, she's not gonna. She's smart. She knows who her dad is… She just wants to call him something else."

Polishing off the last of her second breakfast, Beth picks up the key ring with a single key on it that's lying on top of the kitchen bar and lets it dangle from her middle finger. "The hangar?"

Mac nods. "The hangar."

"I can't believe he's letting me go fly Sarah by myself. He loves that plane."

"Harm trusts you."

"Would he let you?"

Abrupt laughter bursts out of Mac. "No! No, he most certainly would not – but, I'm just his wife! And, in all honesty, should I decided that I wanted to, his unwillingness to let me fly unsupervised likely has something to do with the fact that I would probably crash his precious plane into the Pacific. The odds of you doing that…"

Laura's gaze volleys between the two women. "Uncle Harm's letting you fly Sarah?"

Skates nods, her eyes going wide. "That's what he says. I didn't even ask. He offered."

This makes perfect sense to Laura, who says, "He knows you miss it. You don't get to fly Navy planes anymore, and he has one of his own. He wants to share with you. Can I come with you?"

Mildly surprised, Mac lectures quietly. "Laura, baby, it's rude to invite yourself."

"I'm not inviting myself. I'm only asking. She can say no." Laura turns her expectant gaze back to the pilot.

Beth purses her lips in thought for a moment. "It's okay with me as long as it's okay with your Aunt Mac. Except…" She turns her gaze to Mac. "Can she get herself into the plane. I can help her a little bit if she needs it, but the doctor said I should stop picking of anything that weighs more than 25 pounds."

Laura nods. "I can do it. There's a ladder. Uncle Harm just holds my hand; that's all. I won't hurt you or the baby."


	9. The Woman with All the Answers

**The Woman with All the Answers**

* * *

 **Author's Note** : I wasn't planning on taking this route with this story, but once the idea occurred to me, it was too good to pass up. So, I think it's safe to say that many of you are going to get you wish. This story is definitely going to be more than just ten chapters.

* * *

Saturday, October 3, 2009

Rabb Residence

San Diego, California

14:22 hours

Mac is busy wiping down her son's highchair when there's a knock at the front door.

"Just a minute." She calls out. She quickly finishes up, but before she can turn and head for the door, Noah is up, across the room, and pushing back the lace panel curtain that obstructs his view of the world outside.

Smiling, he stomps his feet, running in place excitedly. "Muh!"

"What is it, Noah? Who's out there?"

"Gamma."

Mac raises a curious eyebrow as she lifts her son's feet off the floor and simultaneously unlocks the front door. Realizing who's come knocking, she kisses the boy's forehead. "Say that again."

Noah points at Trish, and repeats, "Gamma." He bobs his chin in certainty.

Mac shrugs and steps back, allowing the older woman into the house. As Trish eagerly lifts her grandson from his mother's arms, Mac explains, "I guess that's what passes for 'grandma."

Trish chuckles. "I'll take it!" To the boy in her arms, she says sweetly, "Hello darling."

Noah kisses her cheek, and then immediately squirms to be put down.

Setting him free so he can return to his toys, Trish shakes her head. "He's smart. He's picking up other people's mannerisms. He has learned how to do that chin bobbing thing that Laura does when she knows what she's talking about."

Mac nods. "I think he prefers Laura to the rest of us. She plays with him, but she lets him make all the rules and she rarely ever tells him 'no' about anything. She's really good at redirecting his attention when he's doing something he shouldn't be doing. Yesterday, when I came home from work, she had her schoolbooks spread out in one corner of her bathroom floor. There was about an inch of water in the bathtub and Noah was standing up in the tub stripped to his diaper and having a ball throwing bathtub toys in, only to retrieve them and do it all over again. When I questioned this, she informed me that she started her homework in her bedroom like always and that Noah would come into her room every few minutes, help himself to a colored pencil, and disappear. She got curious about what he was up to, so she went to investigate and found him tossing her pencils into the toilet. Instead of fussing at him, she said,' Noah, let's do this instead.' She undressed him so he wouldn't soak his clothes and supplied him with a basketful of bathtub toys. I told her it was a bad idea to leave him alone, with even that small amount of water in the tub, and she replied, 'Duh, Aunt Mac! That's why I'm doing my homework on the bathroom floor.' When I commented that she was probably very uncomfortable she just shrugged and said, 'It's okay with me. Noah's happy. He just likes making things go splash."

Trish squints. "Where was Beth?"

"In the living room, resolving one of those rare disputes between the girls. They were fighting over a toy. Laura volunteered to look after Noah while Beth was busy. After the girls settled down, she went to check up on Noah and Laura and decided to leave them alone, for the most part, because every time she tried to get Noah to leave the bathroom he got cranky."

Trish helps herself to a kitchen bar stool and drops her handbag on the bar. "Wouldn't it be easier just to tell him 'no?"

Mac shrugs. "Laura doesn't think so. I have heard her do it when she's a little too preoccupied or if she can't think of the way to distract him. When we tell him no, he throws a fit. Laura says it's because – she quotes her niece - 'Nobody likes to be told 'no.' and neither does Noah.' According to her, he was only throwing her pencils in the toilet because he can reach it, and because he likes playing in water. She says, it's less distracting to give him something else that it is okay for him to play with and then watch him do it, than it is to tell him he can't and listen to him throw a fit."

Trish shakes her head. "Sometimes I forget she's only eight. She's so grownup."

Mac nods. "She didn't really have a choice before Harm and I came along. I guess you sort of have to grow up when your only parent refuses to. It leaves you to figure out most things in this life for yourself. Now that she's here, what are we supposed to do? Ask her to be more of an eight-year-old? I've tried. She just smiles and reminds me that she will be nine next month."

"That's why I'm here. Or at least, one of the reasons." Trish pauses and reaches down to pick up her granddaughter when Shannon crawls over and uses the legs of a bar stool to pull herself into a standing position and often her grandmother the doll she's been playing with. "Hello sweet baby. Who's your friend?"

In reply, Shannon simply pulls her grandmother's arms more tightly around herself and cuddles close.

Trish chuckles. "This one is content just to be held, but that's the last thing her brother wants."

Mac nods. "Unless something scares him. When that happens, if Harm is around, he looks for his dad's reaction before he panics. If Harm is not here, he will become my little shadow. I can't leave the room without him."

"And little Miss Ellie just tries to keep up with the two of them."

"Mac bites her lower lip to keep from laughing as she moves the washable seat cover from the sink back to her son's highchair and slips it back into place. "Trish, I don't think it will be very much longer before she's running circles around both of them. Usually Noah will pick on Ellie first if she's here because Shannon will stand up to him. Ellie is only just beginning to do that. Until very recently, if he upset her, she simply cried. I think she's been taking lessons from Shannon. Either that, or she's just fed up with him. Noah took her drink away from her earlier this week. She surprised us all when she reached over, took it back, pried the lid off - which took her a few very determined seconds - and then turned it upside down over his head and gave it a good shake to be certain he got every last drop! I wish you had seen the look of shock on your grandson's face. It was priceless, Trish!"

Trying not to laugh herself, Trish eyes her grandson with forced disapproval. "That's what you get, young man! You shouldn't pick on little girls."

Noah's only response is to glance momentarily away from his toy cars and offer his grandmother an innocent 'I don't know what you're talking about' smile.

Mac chuckles. "One guess who he learned that from."

Trish laughs. "I don't need to guess. I've seen that look more times than I can count. He may have your smile but that look and the attitude that comes with it is pure Rabb."

Mac nods. "You wanted to talk about Laura's birthday next month?"

"Not just that. We're coming up on a busy time of the year. Noah's first birthday is three weeks away and closely followed by Halloween. The anniversary of Laura's adoption is precisely one month later, and her birthday is only one day before the girls'. Then there's Thanksgiving to throw into the mix. How do you want to handle the upcoming parties?"

"I've been thinking about that. Privately, we should do something special with each one of them to mark the occasions, so that I won't feel like any one of them is being shortchanged. However, this year, the little ones are so young, I don't think they'll really understand about birthday parties yet. Until they do, Beth and I were wondering if we could get away with the one big giant party for all of it – probably sometime in early November?"

Trish nods agreeably. "That seems reasonable, and it would fit in nicely."

Sensing a segue, Mac raises an eyebrow. "Nicely, with what?"

Trish looks around. "Where's Laura?"

"Magellan. Harm gave Beth the keys to the hangar. They're on a girls-only flight. They must be having a good time. They've been gone for hours."

"Good. I wanted to talk to you - and if possible, Harm - without her present but you two are rarely in the same place at the same time. At least not without her, and I didn't want to risk getting her hopes up in case you aren't comfortable with what I'm about to offer."

Mac pours Trish a cup of coffee without asking if she wants it and delivers it with a raised eyebrow. "I'm all ears."

"Laura's out of school the week after Thanksgiving?"

Mac shakes her head. "The week of. She goes back the following Monday."

Trish clicks her tongue against the inside of her cheek. "Do you think it would hurt if she missed a day or two."

"Trish, Laura hates missing school. Not that she's incapable of making up anything she misses, far from it, but you'd have to offer her something pretty spectacular just to get her to agree."

I can't miss the babies' first Thanksgiving. I know they won't understand what's happening, but I will, and I can't miss it. Frank has a trip coming up and he asked me to go with him. He's already pushed it back because I told him there was no way I was going to miss this thanksgiving with the little ones."

Mac nods, rolling her wrist in a 'bring it on' fashion as she takes a guess. "So, the day after Thanksgiving you and Frank are leaving, and you want to take Laura with you to…"

"Actually, late that Thursday evening… China."

Stunned, Mac's eyes widen noticeably. "Oh wow! Trish, are you sure about that? I know you two use these little trips like a couple's getaway."

Trish waves the question aside. "Oh please! We can do that anytime."

Mac chuckles and raises an eyebrow. "Are you sure Frank's going to be okay with that?"

"It was his idea! He got all excited. Come with me, he said. He knows I'm not terribly fond of Beijing, but that didn't stop him from immediately making plans. We can take Laura with us on the trip, said he. 'Experience China through her eyes.' I stopped him right there. Frank, darling, don't you think we should ask Laura's parents before we board a 20-hour flight with her?" They might have something to say about that! You should've seen him, Mac. He barely slowed down. The anniversary of her adoption is coming up and he just wants to make it extra special for her. She wouldn't be gone on the actual date. She could be here with you for that, and if you aren't comfortable with this, say no. You won't hurt my feelings, and we just won't mention it to her."

It takes Mac a moment to find her voice but when she does, she asks, "What's there to be uncomfortable about. I know you love her and that you'll bend over backward to take care of her. I can't deny her the opportunity – not if she wants to go. She doesn't have a passport. To the best of my knowledge, she's rarely been out of the state of California, and never abroad, but that's easily remedied. How many days of school does she need to miss? I will clear it with her teachers. I'm sure I can make them see the potential of the trip. I don't see a problem with that."

Well, Frank's in meetings all day Monday and Tuesday that week. We can have her back here as early as late Wednesday evening, she would probably need Thursday off just to recuperate and get over the jet lag. But she could be back in class the following Friday. She would only miss four days, if that's what you want. If we stay through Friday, she only misses one extra day of school but, we would have three extra days for her to explore, come back on Saturday, and that gives her Sunday to relax and re-adjust before returning to school the following Monday."

Mac shrugs thoughtfully. "Let me discuss this with Harm before we tell Laura anything."

"Of course." Trish looks around again. "Where is my son?"

When Ellie starts to fuss, Mac picks her up off the play palette spread out on the living room floor and rubs her back. "I think it's a nap time. Right, Ellie?" To Trish, she says, "I'm not exactly sure. He and Keeter left hours ago to go to the gym where they were supposed to meet Sturgis; who is in town. I thought they would be back by now. I'm sure they've gotten sidetracked. They could be anywhere, but I know they will show up eventually."

"I wonder what Sturgis is going to make of Keeter."

"They've met. On our wedding day."

"Oh, right. I don't recall them spending a noticeable amount of time together."

"I can only guess, but I'm not predicting any lifelong friendship to spring up between the pair. I think Sturgis is a little too tightly wound for a guy like Keeter."

Trish nods indecisively. "I suppose we'll find out soon enough. So, big party, maybe the first weekend in a November, with something private to mark each occasion on the actual dates?"

Mac hums agreeably. If you do take Laura to China, and if you leave Thanksgiving evening, then, she will be with you on her actual birthday this year."

Trish nods. I know. We've got it covered - as long as you don't mind doing the family celebration on a different date."

Mac shakes her head and beckons with a whisper as she leaves the room, "Bring Shannon."

They place the sleepy girls in a single crib in the nursery and take a moment to silently marvel at the way the two of them curl together the moment they are within touching distance of each other.

Back in the kitchen, Mac addresses her son. "Noah, nap time?"

Busy crashing two toy cars together deliberately, Noah shakes his head emphatically. "No, Muh!"

The marine shrugs. "Okay."

Trish squints. "You don't make him take a nap?"

Mac shakes her head and whispers. "Don't have to. He hates to stop playing, if you force him, he will throw a fit. All you have to do is wait him out. I promise you, within the next 20 minutes, you will look over, and he will probably be standing there in the same spot where he is now, but he will be slumped over the coffee table sound asleep. Wherever he is, he literally just plays until he drops."

Trish groans. "It would've been nice of my son to tell me that a few weeks ago when Noah was staying with me during the day. He told me that nap time generally started shortly before 15:00 and that I would have about an hour of downtime to myself while he slept, which I knew, but somehow, I wasn't privy to the rest of it. I forced the child to lay down in his crib and he howled for 45 minutes before he finally slept."

Mac rolls her eyes. "I'm sorry. Harm knows this. He would leave something like that out. I should've called you myself. it's easier to just let Noah drop. He does in every afternoon. Then, pick him up and put him in his crib. He doesn't even know he's there until he wakes up, and then he howls to be let out."

Trish chuckles dryly. "Typical Harm." Moving on to the next topic, she queries, "What about Halloween?"

Mac nods but shrugs at the same time. "I can't decide. I'm tempted to buy them cute little costumes of some sort just for the memories, but they are too little to understand, and they can't have a hard candy yet. I don't relish the idea of taking them door to door for trick-or-treating and then combing through treat bags just to sort out what they can and can't have.

"So, don't do that. Dress them up and bring them to the Montage instead."

Mac laughs. "One of these days, you're gonna get tired of hosting Halloween in an art gallery."

"Nonsense! Halloween has never been more fun for me than it has been the last couple of years; not to mention more profitable. I talked to Chloe a few days ago via e-mail. I've already agreed to pay her airfare. She said she would come and bring me lots of pretty pictures to exhibit if I threw a costume gala this year. Costumes required for admission!"


	10. The New Kid

**Chapter 10: The New Kid**

* * *

 **Author's Note** : To those of you who read faithfully; thank you. To those of you take the time to review and offer something constructive as well as your fresh perspectives in your delightful and sometimes entertaining reviews, thank you. I ask y'all to bear with me because I feel compelled to remind other less gracious readers that we all have lives outside of fanfiction and some of us are dealing with their own private battles right now. Often, we turn to this place as a means of comfort and escape.

I'm thrilled you like the story, but if your idea of a 'review' is to get in touch a as a guest and copy and paste the exact same paragraph into the message box week after week; reminding me to finish my own work – I am here to tell you that I'm feeling a little harassed. Please feel free to offer something new and helpful or cease and desist all communication attempts with me immediately. If you persist in this matter, I will not ask again. I will ignore you. I will no longer consider such communication a review. Going forward, I will simply disallow posting of such reviews.

The day before Thanksgiving, my sister is having surgery. At times I am half out of my mind with concern for her. She is my primary focus right now and will remain so for as long as need be. This story may not be finished according to any timetable you approve of, but it will be finished. Enjoy the story, but please stop nagging me. If you're going to insist on doing it, then at least take the time to say something original. Laura and her family are patient. They know I will get to them as soon as life allows. I love you guys, but there happens to be one or two of you out there who really just need to chill – and, yes, I am well aware of the fact that this probably applies to me too.

Rant over. I now return you to your regularly, if somewhat poorly scheduled reading.

* * *

Wednesday, October 7, 2009

Tierrasanta Elementary School

San Diego California

11:49 HRS

"Laura's lunch break should be happening in about…"

Pausing to look at the wall clock in his classroom, Donald Dixon is an otherwise clean-cut man with an enviously thick, and prematurely silver, lion's mane of hair that just touches his shoulders. Leaning against one corner of his desk, in his inexpensive but well-fitted and neatly pressed three-piece suit, he unconsciously dunks the tea bag in his earthenware mug and looks more like a cultured scholar that an overworked, underpaid public school teacher.

"Oh… Now. If you hurry to the cafeteria, I'm sure you'll find her with relative ease. She has a way of standing out from the masses. You're welcome to join her for lunch if you like, Colonel."

Chuckling, Mac leaves her perch on the edge of a child-size desk and rises to her feet offering to shake the man's hand. "Yes, Laura has a way of standing out in any crowd. Thanks for understanding about the trip."

"Not at all. I wish more of our students had the opportunity for such a potentially valuable learning experience. I hope she's thrilled. I won't say anything to her about China until she mentions it to me herself. Two weeks before her departure, I'll start slowly providing her with class materials for what she will miss the week she is gone. I'll ask her to write a report about her trip. She can use the grade for extra credit if she needs any help catching up after her return to class, but I don't foresee a problem there. Laura's bright. She's energetic, and unlike most of my kids, actual eager to learn – I'm afraid most of them see school as some sort of drudgery or punishment to be endured. You might also want to discuss her upcoming absence from class with Shara Eichler, the vice principal in charge of overseeing Laura's age group here at the school."

Mac smiles. "I already have."

"Well then, I think you've done all that can be done for now."

"I think I will pop into the cafeteria and join Laura for lunch."

He nods and waves dismissively, his attention immediately going to the pile of papers that wait to be graded on his desk. When she's just beyond the door, he calls her back; his green eyes alive with tempered mirth. "Fair warning, Colonel. it's Wednesday. Avoid the lasagna-like substance served by the ladies in hairnets. I've gotten better offerings from prehistoric mess kits."

Mac nods. "Alright then. Thanks for sounding the alarm."

"I've noticed your niece's fondness for food. Trust her judgment. I'm sure she can steer you toward items least likely to cause gastronomic distress."

Four minutes later Mac smiles when she catches sight of her niece seated at a table halfway across the large cafeteria. Three steps into the room, she notices that Laura has stopped taking items out of her lunch tote to watch curiously as a young boy of obvious Native American descent slowly rises from another table and crosses the room at a snail's pace with nothing more to guide his steps than a white cane. When he approaches the serving counter, he asks politely, "Will someone please help me to the back of the line."

Not understanding why he asked, several of the children stare awkwardly and point him in the appropriate direction without a single word.

Laura temporarily abandons her table and rises to offer assistance, but before she can get to him an older boy more than twice his size deliberately kicks his cane to the floor and snatches it up as the smaller boy crouches low and searches; one arm clearly shielding his face while the other is outstretched; his hand patting the air ¼ inch above the floor.

"Hey, new kid! Cool stick."

"Please give it back." The boy instinctively turns toward the sound of his tormentor's voice, despite his inability to see him.

"What if I don't want to." The bigger kid asks. "What if I want to keep my cool new stick."

Momentarily stunned; before Mac can even find her voice, Laura's sounds off loud and clear. "Riley Lancaster! It's not a stick. It's a cane, and it doesn't belong to you. You give it back to him right now!"

Riley's gaze jerks around to Laura before he laughs. "Aww! New kid's got a girlfriend!"

Laura rolls her eyes. "Take a short walk off a tall cliff, you troglodyte!"

Riley narrows his eyes with equal parts suspicion and confusion. "What'd you call me?"

"Go find a dictionary! Look it up!"

The room is suddenly filled with raucous young laughter that lingers even after the adults in the room loudly clear their throats and step forward.

A dour-faced matronly gym teacher and a broad-shouldered man in his sixties who could just as easily have been a linebacker in his younger day as he could've been a double for Mr. Clean, both zero in on the troublemaker simultaneously just before the man makes his identity as school principal known when he announces, "Mr. Lancaster, my office, now!"

Riley shrugs as if this is no cause for concern, drops the cane and, just for good measure, kicks it across the room on his way out the door.

Whether Laura's dog truly understands her intent, or whether she's simply chasing a moving object is not clear, but as Laura moves in the direction of the cane, Candy tugs slightly at her leash, eager to go and help the girl fetch it.

Once protruding from Candy's mouth on either side, the cane is long enough to cause some trouble with its own delivery in the crowded room, but before the ends of it rap too many times against Laura's walker or the legs of a table as they pass by, Laura has it in hand and turned in such a way that she can carry it, and push her walker at the same time without gouging anyone who happens to be walking by.

As the three of them gather around the boy, the gym teacher asks quietly, "Are you alright, young man."

Coming slowly to his feet, he nods. "I am good as long as someone will help find my cane."

"You are the new boy? I thought you were supposed to have an aide?"

"I do. She will be right back."

"She just left you?"

"Ma'am, she only went to the lady's room. I am going to be blind my entire life. If I cannot survive on my own for 10 minutes, life is going to be very boring. If you will help me find my cane and then show me to the end of the lunch line, I will be fine."

"I have you cane." Laura volunteers. "I thought you brought your lunch."

"I did, but I would like some milk." He reaches out for his cane and his open palm is met with Candy's curious cold wet nose instead.

"Candy, no. Off." Laura scolds, hoping her dog didn't frighten the boy.

"Aww, she only wants to sniff me. She is just making sure that you are not in any trouble being with me." He holds out his hand aimlessly and patiently allows the dog's inspection. "Hello Candy. It's nice to meet you, girl."

When Candy licks his outstretched fingers once, Laura shrugs. "I guess that means you passed."

The boy grins in mock relief. "Phew, that is good to know. Dogs know things. My dad says they can smell bad people. You must be Laura?"

Laura nods curiously, and when he doesn't respond, she immediately realizes that she must speak her answer. "Yep, I'm Laura, but how did you know that?"

He laughs a bit self-consciously. "I guess when you are the new kid in school and you just happen to be blind, everybody thinks they need to tell you about the girl with the walker and the cool dog… Unless your dog is not the only one."

"Oh no. She's the only one."

"Cool. Then she is literally top dog."

Laura eyes Mac with mild concern. "My aunt is here too but, I'm not sure why."

"I thought someone else was here. I can smell her."

Mac squints slightly as the boy immediately follows up with, "Sorry… I do not mean that you smell bad. I mean that I can smell the bath soap you use. It is different from Laura's or the lady teacher's."

Mac nods. "I see. I'm Sarah Rabb. I dropped by for a quick parent-teacher conference and decided to see if Laura wanted company for lunch. It's nice to meet you."

"I am Dade Tallgrass. It is nice to meet you both."

Laura raises an eyebrow. "You're staying for lunch… Here?"

Mac chuckles. "If that's okay with you."

Laura shrugs. "Okay… Cool. Come on. I'll show you what's good to eat. Unless you want to share mine. Uncle Harm made me a big sandwich with the leftover roast beef from last night. I got fruit salad, jalapeno chips, cheese dip and blackberry tea."

"Hey, lucky duck. He makes me pack my own lunch. Is there anything that the cafeteria offers that sounds half as good."

Laura shrugs. "The hamburgers are good, and the salad is okay too, but stay away from the fake lasagna stuff and the fish sticks. Gross… Double gross! Dade, you come with us. You can put your hand on my walker if you want to." Laura takes hold of his right hand and gently presses his cane into it. I won't bump you into nobody on purpose. We'll get your milk and you can sit with us too if you want."

The cafeteria monitor glances at Mac with uncertainty. "Is that okay with you?"

Mac shrugs. "Sure, why not. The more the merrier."


	11. Who Needs a Suitcase?

**Who Needs A Suitcase?**

Wednesday, October 9, 2009

Rabb Residence

San Diego, California

19:52 HRS

"Noah Roberts Rabb! Stop that, young man. I am not going to say it again!" Mac pauses mid-task, points with the wooden spoon in her hand, and glowers at her son; who frowns at being scolded but upon seeing his mother's foreboding stare, slowly turns his cup right-side up and stops playing in the small puddle of milk that sloshes around quite nicely on the tray of his highchair.

Mac returns her attention to the vegetables sautéing on the stove in front of her as her friend on the other side of the country laughs merrily at the two of them courtesy of video chat.

"Harriett!" The marine declares with forced patience, "You are not helping."

"Sorry. I can't help it. He's just so stinking cute! And, anyway, that's what happens when you bring three children into the world all at once."

"Hey! I only had a hand in the arrival of two of them. The adorable little blonde one does not belong to me."

"True, but the parents of the adorable blonde probably never would've gotten together if it hadn't been for you and Harm."

Conceding that point, Mac shrugs even as she rolls her eyes. "Laura." She calls out, raising her voice to be heard clearly through both the din of toddler chatter, and the girl's closed bedroom door.

It takes a moment, but the door opens wide enough to accommodate the expectant faces of both Laura and her dog. "Dinner?"

Mac shakes her head. "Not yet. But soon. I know, you're starving. I'm working as fast as I can. Fajita or vegetarian tacos?"

Laura doesn't hesitate. "Definitely veggie."

"There is some leftover Salisbury steak that is going to go bad if we don't eat it within the next day or two. You want that to go with your tacos?"

Laura wrinkles her nose in thought briefly before declining with the shake of her head. "I can skip the meat for once. Just cut the veggies extra chunky. I'll eat a big hamburger for lunch tomorrow."

"Well, that makes things easier. On the table in ten."

"Uncle Harm home yet?"

"No, but he's on his way."

Laura grins. "Did he call?"

Mac repeats. "No, but he's on his way."

Expecting her aunt's rebuttal, Laura teases, "Tell him I said to hurry up. I don't want to eat without him."

"It doesn't work that way, kiddo. I know he's on his way home. But my ability to sense that doesn't come with active telepathy."

"Are you sure about that?"

Mac chuckles. "Pretty sure."

As Laura leaves her bedroom, and steps into her bathroom to wash up in preparation for dinner, the back door opens, and Jack Keeter pokes his head inside. "Marco!"

"Polo!" Mac and Harriett answer in unison.

The devil-may-care pilot grins as he enters the house and walks around the kitchen's island countertop to address both, the marine and woman visible on the screen of Mac's tablet. "Elizabeth sent me. She's got dinner waiting. I'm here for the bug."

Responding to his presence, his daughter tries to stand up in the seat of Shannon's highchair, happily reaching for him. "Kee!"

Rushing toward her, he scoops her up and holds her close. "Let's not do that, okay Firefly?" He shakes his head comically. "You fall out, land on the floor, crack your head like an egg, splatter your brains all over the place, your mama never speaks to me again, and I'll have to take up hard drinking, and swear off women for the rest of my days." He shudders visibly. "It will not be pretty!"

Waving goodbye, and winking for the benefit of the women, he shoulders Ellie's green and white polka dot patterned diaper bag that waits, already packed, beside the back door and leaves just as energetically as he arrived.

Mac watches him trot down the back-porch steps to the beach below; his face animated as he talks to the child in his arms. When he's out of sight, she and Harriett both burst into laughter. "Who would've thought…"

The front door opens, and as Harm crosses the threshold, pausing only long enough to deposit his cover in its customary place beside Mac's on top of the credenza in the small entryway, his own daughter sings out, "Da Da Da!"

As she toddles in his direction, he bends and scoops her up on his way to the kitchen where he steps up behind Mac, drops a light kiss on the crown of her head, and flashes his best smile as he asks, "Who would've thought what, Harriett?"

Laughing, she answers. "That the only female capable of bringing Jack Keeter willingly into adulthood would be under three feet tall."

Harm shrugs in defense of his friend. "Before Beth and Ellie, he didn't need to grow up."

Harriett shrugs and nods agreeably. "I'm going to let you all go enjoy your dinner. It's getting late here, and Bud needs me to tinker with his prosthetic before bed tonight."

Mild concern shows in Harm's eyes. "Is he having trouble with it?"

"Nothing to worry about. It just needs some routine maintenance. I've gotten pretty good at observing his gait and knowing when and how to adjust the thing for him."

Mac shakes her head in wonder. "When and how did we become the experts on the proper functioning of walkers, leg braces, and prosthetic limbs?"

Harriett shrugs again. "When we decided to grow up."

Mac chuckles wryly. "See, I don't remember making a conscious decision to do that."

"Of course not. It snuck up on you when you were learning how to adjust those walkers and leg braces."

"Just today in the school cafeteria, Laura made a new friend who's blind and uses a white cane to help him get around."

Harriett chews on her lower lip thoughtfully. "He'll fit right in. How long do you think it will take Laura to become curious about, and learn to read Braille?"

"She's already asked to go to the library and check out a book on the subject."

Harriett chuckles in delight. "That's our girl! Tell her I said goodnight and I'll call back this weekend. She can tell me all about it."

Minutes later, as they all settle in at the table, Mac uses a dish towel to mop up the mess on the tray of her son's highchair before delivering a small plastic plate to him with bits of warm flour tortilla mixed in with two small spoonfuls of grated cheese, tender squash, tomatoes and zucchini. She gives him a wide-handled child's plastic spoon, with one hand as she takes his cup away from him with the other when he tries, once again, to dribble milk from the spout of the cup's lid into his dinner plate.

"Muh!" Noah reaches out in protest with both hands, grasping for his cup.

Mac shakes her head. "No sir! I told you to stop making messes. You can have it back when you're finished eating."

Noah grunts rudely and when his mother ignores him, he turns to his father. Looking for an ally, he points at her. "Muh!"

Harm bites his lower lip to keep from laughing at the not quite one-year-old boy. "Yes, I know. I heard her. She said no. Sorry pal. Eat your dinner."

Noah grumbles cantankerously but, never one to miss a meal, he still makes immediate, if somewhat sloppy, use of the spoon his mother offered him. Seated across the table from him, his sister puts down her own spoon and uses her fingers to pick up a tiny bite-size piece of tortilla from her own plate and sample it curiously.

When the expression on her face immediately goes sour and she spits out the morsel, Harm chuckles and reaches over to wipe her chin without comment before using her spoon to separate the rest of her meal from the bits of tortilla. When the spoon is hers again, she eats happily for a moment or two until she realizes that Harm is using a folded tortilla to help push his own medley of vegetables onto his fork. When she reaches for his tortilla, he raises an eyebrow comically.

"You won't like it."

Shannon babbles noisily in complaint.

He uses his fork to point out the small pile of discarded tortilla bits on the side of her own plate. "It's the same thing, spark plug."

"Da!" She reaches out again, the fingers on her small hands splaying reflexively like the limbs of a starfish.

Shrugging in resignation, Harm tears the bitten end off of his tortilla and offers the other end to his daughter.

Shannon bites into it eagerly, only to make the same sour face and repeat the regurgitation process all over again before she complains loudly "Da!" as though accusing him of trickery.

Harm chuckles softly, wipes her face again and pats the top of her head. "I tried to tell you. Eat your cheese and veggies."

Mac smirks. "At least she doesn't feel the need to pour her drink out in the middle of her plate at every meal."

Harm shrugs. "We can swap if you like."

From her place beside their son, Mac shakes her head adamantly. "I've told you, Squid. At dinnertime, she's yours. I would rather clean up his mess than have to force food into her mouth."

Harm grimaces. "I don't have to force food into her mouth. She's not really that picky. She just doesn't dive in headfirst the way you three over there on that side of the table do. She is not suffering with some bizarre compulsion to eat everything that won't eat her first."

Laura chimes in. "Hey, be nice. We're carnivores, not cannibals. You could say thank you because, for a change, there is no meat on the table."

Harm flashes his grin and teases, "I did notice the rather suspicious absence of the stench of dead animal. What's it going to cost me?"

Laura turns her gaze to her aunt and the pair shares a meaningful look before the girl leaves the table.

Puzzled, Harm's gaze follows her until she disappears from view inside the kitchen, then he queries, "Where is she going?"

Mac shrugs. "My guess would be the refrigerator."

He listens curiously to the sound of a step stool being dragged across the kitchen floor. A few seconds later a cabinet door opens, china rattles softly, the refrigerator door opens and closes, the microwave beeps, comes on, and then, after a brief pause, beeps again to signify the completion of its job. A moment later, Laura is back; pushing her walker and carefully balancing a small saucer as she returns to her seat at the table. When Harm realizes what she's brought from the kitchen he objects comically. "Laura, you cannot eat leftover Salisbury steak with vegetarian tacos!"

Unconcerned, Laura uses the edge of her fork to slice into the tender meat. Before popping a piece into her mouth, she smiles. "Watch me."

Harm points at his wife. "She learned this from you."

"Laura did learn how to eat before she met me, Harm."

"I'm referring to the display of attitude. That… she got from you."

"And?" Mac shrugs. "I asked her if she wanted beef or vegetarian tacos for dinner. She made her choice. She was being nice to you. Instead of showing appreciation for her choice, you decided to tease us. You have only yourself to blame, Flyboy."

Willing to admit his mistake, Harm changes the subject, "My apologies. Your birthday isn't too far away. Is there anything special you would like to have, sweetheart?"

Laura nods emphatically and wastes no time answering. "I want a baseball bat."

Harm chuckles. "You have a baseball bat."

"I want a real one. Not the plastic one I practice with in the water. It's for little kids. Noah and Shannon can play with it when they get big enough. I looked at the bats the last time we went to Academy. The real ones are heavier than plastic. I may as well start practicing swinging one for real… You know, out of the water. I can swing the plastic one on the sand. I can do it almost every time without falling over. It's time for an upgrade."

Harm nods. "You have improved, that's for sure. "Maybe we should talk to Charlie first before we buy anything heavier though."

Laura sighs. "I already did."

"And what did he say?"

"The same thing he said last time.' Practice on the sand where its soft. If you come back to therapy covered head to toe in bruises, no more baseball.' but at least let me try. you can buy me knee pads and a helmet if you want to. I'll wear them to practice if I have to but I gotta try, otherwise I wasted all this time practicing for nothing. That would suck, Uncle Harm."

When Mac puts down her fork and nods slowly, Harm shrugs. "Alright. The weekend before your birthday we'll go back to Academy and pick out a good one for you. While we're there, I think we'd better get you a big suitcase too."

Laura squints in confusion. "What do I need a big suitcase for? Suitcases are boring. Unless I'm going somewhere? If you're tired of me and you're planning on shipping me off somewhere, please remember to get one with air holes in it."

Aghast, Harm starts, "Of course we're not shipping you off! Laura, even if we were, we're certainly aren't planning to put you inside a suitcase!"

Laura grins.

"Sweetheart, how many times do we have to tell you…"

"Uncle Harm, chill."

"Chill? Laura…"

Laura rolls her eyes as she cuts him off for the second time. "Uncle Harm, I'm teasing you, you big goof. I know you love me."

Harm shakes his head as he wipes his mouth on a paper napkin. "You know that, huh?"

"Yeah, I kinda figured it out. So, calm down and tell me where we're going?"

Well, we aren't going anywhere. Mac and I are gonna stay right here at home with the gruesome twosome. Thanksgiving Day, after we get together for turkey dinner, Grandma and Grandpa are boarding a flight to China. They've invited you to come along… If you want."

It takes several seconds for Laura to decide on a response. First, she looks confused, then doubtful, as if she must've misunderstood something. When nobody interrupts to correct or clarify anything, she's hopeful for three long seconds before she finally makes her way to excited. "China? Me? Are you sure?" When both her aunt and her uncle nod, she pushes her chair back and stands to leave the table again.

Only mildly surprised, Mac says dryly, "You're not finished eating."

Laura waves dismissively in the general direction of her plate as she heads for the phone in the living room. "I can eat anytime. I gotta call Grandma and Grandpa!"


	12. Can You Say Birthday?

**Can You Say Birthday?**

* * *

Saturday, October 24, 2009

Rabb Residence

San Diego, California

16:22 HRS

Carrying two heavy canvas totes, one full of groceries, the other more than half filled with library books, Mac lets herself in the front door talking over her shoulder to both Trish and Laura. Lost in conversation, she drops her load on top of the bar that separates the kitchen from the living area and begins unpacking even before she says hello to Harm and Frank, let alone, realizes that they are not the only men in the house.

Frank says a polite but quiet, "Excuse us." as he and Harm leave their seats and step into the foyer to relieve Trish of the three grocery sacks she hauls in, struggling to close the door behind herself.

Having successfully learned to maintain her balance with two crutches as opposed to one walker with only the rarest of mishaps, Laura joins them all at the bar and, propping one crutch against it, she pats her dog's head and then shifts her weight and sheds the right shoulder strap of her backpack before swapping her remaining crutch from one arm to the other and relieving herself of the opposite strap. When her backpack hits the floor with a noticeable thud, a familiar but unexpected voice queries, "Which is heavier, darlin? You, or your bookbag?"

Turning her attention toward the living room Laura is a breath away from greeting her uncle and grandfather. Even as reason argues that the voice she heard belongs to neither man, her gaze slides passed, and then rapidly returns to the man seated in her uncle's favorite chair. Flashing one of her brightest smiles, she asks in uncertainty, just a half second before her aunt echoes "Admiral Chegwidden?"

"Not anymore." The retired seal reminds them both gruffly as he comes to his feet. "It's just A.J. now. Although, when last we met two years ago, my last name was a bit of a mouthful for you, Laura."

Laura shrugs. "I wasn't even seven then, and it's not exactly the kind of name people hear every day. It was a new word for me. It only confused me until Aunt Mac wrote it down for me so I could look at it. It's spelled just the way it sounds. So, it's not hard to say anymore."

He nods approvingly. "Good for you. I can't tell you how many grown people don't understand that it's spelled just like it sounds."

"Well this is nice." Mac interjects. "We weren't expecting to come home from the library and find you here, sir."

Chegwidden nods. "I was in Tijuana this morning and it seemed odd to be this close and not at least say hello. I called, and Rabb told me to drop by. If I'm interfering with party plans, blame him."

Mac chuckles. "You're welcome here anytime, sir. Although Noah's birthday is today, the party isn't until next weekend. So, we were just out running normal weekend errands. Chloe is flying in for another Halloween exhibit at the Montage and we're going to throw one big bash next Saturday afternoon for all four of the kids. Halloween, birthdays, adoption… All rolled together in one. What were you doing in Mexico this morning?"

Chegwidden grimaces. "Putting the fear of god, or at the very least, the fear of me into my daughter's louse of an ex-husband. He's making things difficult for her."

Mac's eyes widen noticeably. "Well, whatever trouble Francesca is having with him, I'm certain it will cease to exist. Though, I'm sorry to hear she's divorced. I'm afraid I didn't even know she'd gotten married."

"That because I should do a better job of staying in touch, and don't waste your time being sorry. She never should have married him in the first place."

"Well alright then." Mac declares with an air of finality as she chuckles, sensing it's best to let the current line of conversation drop as she bends to pick up her son when he comes near and tugs at her pant leg. She hugs him close, and then quickly returns him to his feet; setting him free as she gestures toward Shannon. "She will stay in your arms for as long as you let her, sir. Feel free to put her down whenever you choose."

"We're fine. Aren't we, Miss Shannon?" He offers a stiff smile to the child he holds in the crook of one arm as she studies him with quiet curiosity. "I'm not certain which fascinates her more, my bald head, or my goatee. Neither she nor her brother seems very chatty yet."

Laura laughs. "Shannon will talk both your ears off once she decides she likes you. Grandpa say she chatters like a magpie, but the only two words you'll be able to understand are 'no' and 'Da.' She says 'Da' when she wants Uncle Harm, and sometimes 'no' means no and sometimes it means Noah. Either way, she's usually talking to him when she said it."

Frank nods in agreement as Mac continues where Laura left off. "Noah can say quite a few words - that is when he decides he cares enough to do it. He's more about action than talk."

While Noah makes the rounds, quietly eliciting brief hugs from all who just arrived, Chegwidden nods his approval. "Talk is cheap."

Moving to the coat closet, Laura swaps her crutches for her walker, then returns to her previous spot, and picks up her backpack; hefting it onto the walker's seat and looping the shoulder straps over the walker's hand grips for added security. As she crosses the living room on her way to her bedroom, she informs the admiral, "I've been trying for three days to get Noah to say 'birthday.' So far, he's not interested." She's out of sight for a moment, and then returns minus the heavy book bag. Making eye contact with her cousin, she encourages, "Noah, say 'birthday."

Ignoring her entirely, Noah turns his attention to Mac. "Muh?"

"Yes sir?" Mac answers.

"Eat."

"Alright, I will fix you something as soon as the groceries are put away. Laura is talking to you. Can you say birthday?"

Noah shakes his head comically "Eat."

Chegwidden smirks. "He may look more like his father, but clearly, the birthday boy has his mother's marine-sized appetite. He was eating when I walked through the door an hour ago."

Mac laughs. "Yes sir. He does that about once every hour and 15 minutes."

Her former commanding officer eyes the boy with mild scrutiny. "It doesn't show. He must have your metabolism as well."

Trish chuckles as she steps into the conversation. "He never eats more than a handful of food at any given time. I don't think he can sit still long enough to eat more than that. He's always moving. He moves in his sleep. Not at all unlike Harm at the same age. It's nice to see you again, sir. I think the last time we were all in the same room together was two years ago, the morning after their wedding." She gestures to Harm and Mac.

"That sounds right, ma'am. It must be nice to have them so close to home. And, I'm sure the three little ones keep you busy."

Frank looks around the room and offers a quiet correction, holding up four fingers. "Young Ellie and her parents are just a couple of doors down. We rarely ever see Shannon without Ellie, or Ellie without Shannon. They were undoubtedly kindred souls before they were ever born."

Chegwidden nods with certainty as the small girl in his arms pivots her head, studying the two older men in the room. "Given the highly unusual nature of their birth, I'm not surprised. They knew each other months before either of them knew anyone else, including their parents. Blood or not, they've been sisters since conception." When an afterthought occurs to the retired navy man, he glances at the little girl's mother and, out of good conscience and respect, he offers belatedly, "… unless I shouldn't say that."

Harm passes a longneck beer bottle to Chegwidden on his way to the couch and shakes his head dismissively. "It's perfectly all right, A.J."

Mac nods as she puts groceries into the refrigerator. "We all tend to think, not to mention, talk about them as if they are cousins given the pre-existing bond between Jack and Harm, but it's no secret. Everyone here knows - sisters are precisely who they are."

A.J. shrugs. "Good. I'm curious, does this ever get confusing?"

Mac shakes her head. "If it ever does get confusing, it'll only be because we, the adults, have done something to make it that way. So far, we just take our cues from girls. The fact that they are biologically unrelated sisters with two different sets of biological parents, who just happened to come out of the same womb on the same day is meaningless to them. They only understand that they belong together."

"And if any one of the four of us is ever dumb enough to forget that, they remind us." Harm laughs. "Shannon will not go to bed at night without Ellie. Ellie wakes up angry without Shannon there beside her. We've almost gotten them to where they can get through the day without seeing each other if they have to, but nights are out of the question. If Ellie isn't at our house, Shannon is at theirs. We work around it and roll with them. Otherwise, nobody in either house would ever sleep."

"We don't give in to their every whim…" Mac says, stepping out of the pantry "but nights are non-negotiable."

Chegwidden raises an eyebrow. "Every night?

Harm nods drolly. "Every night. Which reminds me, Mac. Ellie is here tonight. I think Skates needs a night off."

Chegwidden continues. "That's going to be a problem if any one of the four of you ever gets PCS'd."

"No." Mac nods her head in response to her husband's comment even as she speaks to A.J. "Not a problem. Beth pulled retirement. If Jack has a permanent change of station before Ellie is in grade school, they've already discussed it, she stays here with Ellie. It won't be easy if it comes to that, but I'm prepared to do the same or, if necessary, resign my commission."

Chegwidden blinks. "I seem to recall you trying that once before, Mac."

"Pbbt." Mac waves his carefully worded warning aside. "The cushy job Dalton Lowne brought my way cannot hold a candle to all this." She smiles and gestures to the home and the people around her. "I can hold the fort down most days without Harm if I have to, but I don't have a snowball's chance in hell of managing all this without Beth or Trish. They are my reinforcements, and, when necessary, they even provide air support. I can field strip an M-39 in the time it takes a civilian to tie his shoes, but I cannot do this…" She gestures again. "without them."

Chegwidden shrugs and says plainly, "Just make sure that both of you don't retire thinking you going to go into practice together. Southern California will not survive."

While her aunt and uncle look at each other and laugh Laura, who understands neither the comment nor what is funny about it, squints in confusion. "Why not? They go good together. They're noisy, but they're good."

Chegwidden snorts. "Laura, darlin', I was in charge of these two for a lot of years before you came along. If I put them on opposite sides of the courtroom they fought. If I put them on the same side of the courtroom… They tried to massacre each other."

Laura eyes him doubtfully. "Maybe so, but they don't do that anymore."

"They don't? Not even when they think nobody's looking?"

"I don't think so. They both sleep in the same bed at night, and they don't wake up in the morning bruised and bloody." Laura shrugs.

Chegwidden smirks as the girl's aunt and uncle protest comically, both of them saying just a little too loudly, "Laura!"

"I thought about locking the two of them in a room alone together almost daily for the better part of nine years, Laura, but the Navy would have frowned on that!"

"They don't argue about work stuff anymore."

Harm winks at the girl. "That's not because we don't work in the same office anymore, Laura. It's because we don't have the energy. We're exhausted."

Laura smirks. "That's because you have too many kids, Uncle Harm."

Harm laughs. "Do not! We have just enough."

"If you say so. I'm going outside to practice my swing."

Harm nods. "Feet dry, right? It's getting a little late in the year to be in the water."

Laura glances out one of the windows. "The sun is shining. It's nice outside."

Mac interrupts, "It's also 68° outside. It has to be at least 70° before you're allowed in the water. You know that. You can change into a short sleeve shirt if you want but take your green fleece jacket out there with you in case the wind picks up again. You cannot get sick, Laura. We have too much to do to get you ready, and the next 32 days is going to be gone before you know it."

"I think that's just you, Aunt Mac. I marked it on the calendar. It's taking forever, but yeah, I'll stay dry. Laura glances at her dog. "I can't promise that Candy will."

Mac chuckles dryly. "Laura, talking you out of playing baseball would be easier than keeping Candy out of the ocean."


	13. The Right Coach

**Ghapter 13: The Right Coach**

* * *

Saturday, October 24, 2009

Rabb Residence

San Diego, California

16:52 HRS

Laura makes a beeline for the back door with the trio of men following close behind as Mac stops on her way to the pantry and hands two loaves of bread to Trish as she backtracks to answer the ringing wall phone.

Harm has one foot over the threshold when his wife stalls him, the telephone receiver resting on her left shoulder, she says simply, "Admiral Leyendecker."

Sighing, Harm smiles at Laura. "Start without me, sweetheart. I'll be out in a bit."

"You sure, Uncle Harm?"

"Yeah. He's coming by the office next week. He just wants to discuss his itinerary. Give me 25 minutes, and I'm all yours."

Laura nods. "Okay, Grandpa can throw wiffle balls at me."

Opting for the extension and the primacy in the master bedroom, Harm says over his shoulder, "Let A.J. give you a few pointers. He used to play baseball."

"You did? Like on a real team?" Laura eyes the man with newfound admiration and excitement.

Chegwidden grouses, "I still do. Every chance I get."

"Okay then, come play with me." Laura declares eagerly as she peers over the porch railing to double check to make sure there is no one in harm's way before she drops her crutches, one after the other over the staircase railing and watches the metal walking aids land on the soft sand far below the Rabb's back porch. She releases the latch on the safety gate at the top of the stairs and slowly begins her dissent with her patient dog there and ready to assist with her furry shoulder barely caressing the girl's left side providing her with a gentle reminder not to lean too far in that direction as she uses the opposite handrail for support.

Suddenly observing her slow progress, and her rather stiff-legged gait with fresh eyes, Chegwidden questions, "Wouldn't it be easier to take the sticks down the stairs with you?"

Not even a third of the way down, Laura glances over her shoulder and shakes her head. "Not yet. Charlie and me are practicing stairs when I go to therapy on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays. We do it with the leg brace and the crutches, but without Candy. They have stairs in the therapy room just to practice on. I can go up alright. Going down still makes me nervous. I'm getting stronger, but I still feel like I'm going to topple over and go headfirst down the stairs. The staircase in the therapy room is a lot shorter than this one. Charlie won't let me fall, but at least if I ever do, it's not so far to fall. He says, I'm not allowed to go down these stairs yet… Not with my crutches. I know, this way is slower, but I still feel safer." She hugs the railing. "You can go first if you want. Candy will move for you if I tell her to."

Three easy paces behind her, Chegwidden shakes his head. "Take all the time you need. Yell if you start to feel wobbly."

"I'm good. Uncle Harm wanted to put a ramp out here, so, he checked on it. The Americans with Disabilities Act has rules for all kinds of accessibility stuff. It says that, for a ramp to be safe, it needs to have a foot of ramp for every inch of rise. Uncle Harm says it's a little bit more than 12 ½ feet down, and that's a ramp that's more than 150 feet long! He drew a bunch of sketches. He was gonna make a ramp that went halfway down and then turned and went the rest of the way down so that the end of the ramp would have been turned back up underneath the porch. I told him he should just make it go straight. He laughed and said if he did that, he might as well just make it a slide because the end would be way out in the ocean. That sounded kinda fun to me, but Aunt Mac said 'no."

Chegwidden smirks. "I bet she did!"

"A ramp that long and twisty looked like too much work to me, but Uncle Harm said he didn't care about that. If I needed it, he would build it. I don't need it. He made the stairs good. They aren't too steep. Noah crawls down like a little crab. He hardly even slows down now. He's not scared of the stairs anymore. That's why the gate is up top."

With her well-timed reminder, Frank turns back and secures the latch at the top of the stairs and, it isn't until this moment that the retired admiral in front of him realizes just how deep set and slow rising the staircase really is. Still, just to be on the safe side, he glances Frank's way with a raised eyebrow.

Frank shakes his head. "I've heard her yell when she does need help. She is not averse to asking. She just won't do it unless she needs to. She's good."

A.J. watches her lead with her good leg, relying on it and the railing to keep herself stable each time her left foot drops the short distance to the next step; the careful movement making it appear as if she's doing a kind of lopsided hop, but he also notices that she's meticulous about reestablishing balance after each descent. When her feet finally do find the sand, She finds a smidgeon more confidence as she picks up speed and maintains only minimal contact with the porch railing as she steps around the side of the porch to retrieve her crutches.

A few feet from the bottom of the stairs, Frank retrieves both a regulation baseball and several plastic wiffle balls from the sand near the base of a t-ball stand. Touching the top of the ball post, he comments, "This is new."

Laura nods. "Uncle Harm bought it for me. I told him all I wanted was a new bat, but he said this might help even more. I can swing the bat good now, and I only fall over about half the time, but I still can't hit the ball when somebody throws it. He says maybe I'm not ready for that yet."

A.J. grimaces. "You fall over when you swing the bat?"

"Yes, sir. Not half as much as I used to, but sometimes."

Frank interjects proudly, "She fell down the first three dozen times she swung a golf club too. She kept getting back up. She wouldn't quit. Eventually, she found her own footing. Now she's my favorite golfing buddy."

Arms crossed over his chest, Chegwidden eyes the girl with speculation and orders, "Show me?"

Laura studies him for a quiet second before she shrugs and momentarily disappears under the porch to grab her wiffle bat. Re-emerging and dropping one crutch to the ground, she allows the other to dangle loosely by the cuff from her left forearm.

Both men watch as she approaches the stand, swings, and misses the ball that Frank already has waiting there for her. After which, she quickly drops the bat, stepping back on her right heel to maintain her balance and narrowly avoids landing on her backside.

When he's certain she's going to remain upright, A.J. picks the bat up, and returns it to her. "One more time." He says, as he gently tugs the dangling crutch away from her arm.

Laura waits for him to step clear and gives it another go. The bat slices through the sea air with an undeniable woosh, but she still narrowly misses contact with the ball, and stumbles, but before she can go down Chegwidden reaches out, quick as lightning, and grabs a fistful of material at the back of her jacket, keeping her upright.

When her feet are under her again, he trades the crutch he still holds for her bat and walks away with it without a word. As he steps down the beach toward the water's edge where the sand is wet and hard packed, Laura stares after him in mild confusion. When he realizes that she hasn't followed, as he intended, he crooks his finger.

Glancing at Frank once, Laura shrugs and complies without complaint.

Understanding that the game is afoot, Candy eagerly trots after Laura; pausing only long enough to snatch the undisturbed ball from its post, and then charges in her young mistress's direction with the pilfered treasure held securely in her mouth.

Laura chuckles when A.J. takes the ball Candy offers him and then wipes his hand on the leg of his cargo pants without comment. "Sorry, she slimes everything." She rubs the dog's ear affectionately. "My life is covered in dog drool."

"There are worse fates. Life is always better with a good dog at your side."

Laura nods eagerly. "True."

"Do me a favor, darlin. Walk down the beach." He points in the direction he wants her to go.

Laura squints but shrugs again and does as she's been told.

He watches as she goes; her dog strolling along beside her. He lets her walk parallel to the water's edge for a good 30 yards before he calls out, "Okay, now, turn around and come back to us."

By the time Laura returns to Chegwidden, her grandfather is standing beside him looking every bit as curious as she feels.

"Mr. A.J. How come you made me walk all the way down there just to turn around and come back?"

He squats on his heels, bringing himself down closer to her eye level "So, I could watch you."

"Watch me?"

He nods. "I wanted to see you how you move on reasonably level ground."

Laura raises an eyebrow. "Am I doing it wrong?"

"You're doing it your way."

When she wrinkles her nose, uncertain how to interpret his answer, Chegwidden adds, "Your left hip and leg are a little stiff, but I'm guessing you already know that. When you swing this bat, you're giving it all you've got, but your hips aren't quite following through."

Laura frowns in uncertainty.

He offers her a rigid smile. "It takes more than just your arms, to swing a baseball bat properly, girl." He touches her gently at the waist. "From here up, you're good. Your arms, your shoulders, and your back all communicate with each other and work nicely together. From here down, you've got several things to work out."

Laura catches him by surprise when she laughs. "Mr. A.J. You just told the story of my whole life!"

He frowns; more disturbed by her summation than she is, "Not your whole life story, just one small part of it, Laura."

"I hope so."

"I'd put money on it, kid. Lots of money."

"That makes two of us." Frank winks at the girl.

Laura smiles. "Can you help me be a better baseball player?"

Chegwidden shrugs. "I can try."

"I'm listening."

"Number one, I understand why you're practicing on the loose sand. It hurts less when you fall over, right?"

Laura nods eagerly.

"You can start by moving down here to where the sand is wet. It won't hurt that much more, and you'll probably fall over half as often. Up there on the dry sand, the ground as always shifting beneath your feet. You've got no traction."

Laura nods again. "Okay. What else."

"Your stance is disgraceful

"What's that mean? I never heard that word before?"

"What? Stance?"

"Uh huh."

"The way you stand when you swing the bat."

"I just stand like I always do."

The breeze tousles her hair and pushes her bangs into her eyes and Laura makes quick work of searching her jacket pockets and coming up with a bobby pin to correct the problem as he chuckles dryly.

"Yeah, I noticed."

"The way I stand is wrong for swinging the bat?"

"Boy is it, and I'm not sure how much we can change and still keep you upright, but you're hardly managing that now. I think I can help you out some, if you're not too scare to try."

Laura immediately shakes her head. "Show me."

Chegwidden defers to Frank briefly with half a glance, and Frank nods, motioning, "By all means."

A.J. rises to his full height and steps around behind the girl, offering her the bat. When she immediately chokes up on the handle, he gently repositions her hands, widening the gap between them.

"Uncle Harm told me to hold it like that."

Chegwidden nods. "Yeah because he thought it would give you better control of the bat, but he's wrong."

Laura scowls and A.J. snorts before he clears his throat and corrects himself. "Well, he's not exactly wrong. That generally does give a hitter better control over their bat. You just don't really need better control of the bat. Your biggest problem is that slight time lag before your lower body decides to cooperate with your upper body."

"How am I supposed to fix that." Laura asks plainly.

"You may not entirely fix that, but it will get better with practice. That's true for anybody; not just you. You'll just have to do it over and over and over again until it starts to feel normal. He nudges his right foot between both of hers, widening the small gap present there. "You'll help yourself out immensely if you can put some space between your feet. You need a wider support base."

Laura squints. "Charlie says my feet are too wide apart when I walk."

A.J. shrugs. "Charlie might be right too, but we're not walking. We're swinging a baseball bat. Different rules."

Laura giggles. "Okay. What else?"

"Switch hands for me." He says, repositioning her so she can bat with the opposite hand.

"Okay, but how come? I'm right-handed. I can swing harder."

He nods. "Yes, but you pivot better to this side, and you swing so hard that you nearly fall over every time you don't connect with the ball. You gotta meet the ball first, kid. Worry about that before you concentrate on knocking one out of the park. Just meet the ball. That's all you gotta do, and don't get upset if you've got a little less power in your swing. There are plenty of right-handed people who bat left-handed. Until you get the hang of it, if we can't make your bottom half move faster, maybe we can slow the top half down so that the rest of you can keep up."

Laura cocks her head to one side, obviously thinking it through. "Okay, it's worth a try. What next?"

"Here, watch me. I'll show you a good stance and we'll see how close you can come to it and still be on your feet and comfortable."

"Okay."

Inside the house, and momentarily on hold with one hand over the receiver, Harm pokes his head out the bedroom doorway. "How's she doing out there?"

Mac shrugs from her place in front of their son's highchair as she slides the tray into place for the hungry boy. "So far, so good. Chegwidden seems to be trying to get her to emulate a proper hitter's stance as best she can. Occasionally, she looks a little confused, but she seems receptive. She's making an effort."

Harm nods and disappears behind the bedroom door again, returning to his call as the other end of the line is picked up again.

Twenty minutes later, even though she's standing at the kitchen sink, watching Laura and Chegwidden though the open window – even though she sees him gently toss a ball her niece's way, Mac still jumps in surprise at the soft thunk of a baseball connecting with the swinging children's bat; and the squeal of pure joy that immediately follows that sound instantly brings a trace of moisture to her eyes.

Done with his call and busy quickly picking up the toys scattered all over the living room floor, Harm recognizes the sound as well and immediately meets his wife's gaze as he trots to the back door.

Mac nods and whispers in awe, "She did it, Harm. She hit the ball!"

Harm quickly abandons the half-filled basket of toddler's toys. "How much help did she have?"

Mac shakes her head, smiling radiantly as she and Trish each scoop up a child and rush to join him. "Between the two of them, she's certainly had plenty of coaching, but she did it by herself. Frank is sitting on the steps watching. Chegwidden tossed the ball. She swung, she hit the thing, and she's still upright!"

Harm jerks open the back door and allows the women to quickly precede him as he shouts comically, "Hey! What's the big idea? Who told you that you are allowed to actually hit baseballs out here in my backyard?"

While Candy chases after the lost ball, bounding through the waves, Laura stands on the beach, turns her face to the sky, and bellows, "Uncle Harm, did you see?"

Harm sidesteps Frank on the stairs as he races down and lifts the girl's feet off the sand. "No, sweetheart, I didn't see it, but I heard it! Aunt Mac was watching through the kitchen window. She saw."

"I can't believe I did it! I finally hit the ball!" Laura laughs and throws her arms around his neck.

Harm laughs and holds her close as the others gather around. "I don't know why you can't believe it. You should. You did the work, kid. You earned the reward."

The excited babies babble noisily just to compete with the adults and Trish steps forward, warmly embracing both Laura and her son.

Chegwidden thumps Laura on the back with pride and smirks. "I told her to turn away from the house. I was more concerned about the windows than the possibility of losing the ball to the tide."

Mac kisses her niece and waves the comment aside. "Don't worry about the ball, sir. We'll get her some new balls."

Frank laughs, "I'll buy her baseballs by the bucketful!"

Shannon cheers, clapping her small hands together happily "Bay baw!"

Chegwidden shrugs, "Yeah, but I missed the damn ball. That thing is probably long gone, and that dog thinks she's been designated catcher. I don't think she's gonna come back without it."

Laura laughs. "Oh, yes she will. It's not at all hard to get Candy to come back. All you have to do is yell 'treat."

Effectively demonstrating her point, Noah loudly yells his version of a word that is spoken multiple times daily in his house, "Tweat!" and, even with the slight mispronunciation, Candy's head lifts in response.

Before the happy dog comes splashing back to shore, where she shakes water from her coat in every conceivable direction, showering them all, she also manages to snag Laura's wayward ball from the rolling surf.


End file.
